Page:Works of Sir John Suckling.djvu/107

Rh To me now, were not my love and my revenge

Mix'd with it!—

Three tedious winters have I waited here,

Like patient chemists, blowing still the coals,

And still expecting when the blessed hour

Would come, should make me master of

The Court Elixir, Power; for that turns all.

'Tis in projection now; down, sorrow, down,

And swell my heart no more! and thou, wrong'd ghost

Of my dead father, to thy bed again,

And sleep securely!

It cannot be long,—for sure fate must,

As it has been cruel, so a while be just.

King. I say they shall not live: our mercy

Would turn [to] sin, should we but use it e'er.

Pity and love the bosses only be

Of government, merely for show and ornament.

Fear is the bit that man's proud will restrains,

And makes its vice its virtue.—See it done.

So early and so curious in your dress, fair mistress?

These pretty ambushes and traps for hearts,

Set with such care to-day, look like design:

Speak, lady, is't a massacre resolv'd?

Is conquering one by one grown tedious sport?

Or is the number of the taken such,

That for your safety you must kill outright?

Agl. Did none do greater mischief, sir, than I,

Heav'n would not much be troubled with sad story;

Nor would the quarrel man has to the stars

Be alive so strongly.

King. When he does leave 't,

Woman must take it up, and justly too,

For robbing of the sex, and giving all to you.

Agl. Their weaknesses you mean and I confess, sir.

King. The greatest subjects of their power or glory.