Page:Works of Sir John Suckling.djvu/166

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Agl. How ill this does become this hand! much worse

This suits with this! one of the two should go.

The she within me says, it must be this:

Honour says, this; and honour is Thersames' friend.

What is that she then? is it not a thing

That sets a price, not upon me, but on

Life in my name, leading me into doubt,

Which, when't has done, it cannot light me out?

For fear does drive to fate; or fate, if we

Do fly, o'ertakes and holds us, till or death

Or infamy, or both, do seize us.

Ha! would 'twere in again!

Antics and strange misshapes,

Such as the porter to my soul, mine eye,

Was ne'er acquainted with, fancy lets in,

Like a disrouted multitude, by some

Strange accident piec'd together.

Fear now afresh comes on, and charges love

Too home. He comes, he comes! [A little noise below Woman,

If thou wouldst be the subject of man's wonder,

Not his scorn hereafter, now show thyself!

Ther. Unkindly done!

Agl. The prince's voice! defend it, goodness!

Ther. What art

Thou that thus poorly hast destroy'd a life?

Agl. O sad mistake! 'tis he.

Ther. Hast thou no voice?

Agl. I would I had not, nor a being neither.

Ther. Aglaura? it cannot be.

Agl. O still believe so, sir!

For 'twas not I indeed, but fatal love.

Ther. Love's wounds us'd to be gentler than these were;