Page:Works of Sir John Suckling.djvu/169

] Like a man that's too short o' th' ship, and's left

Behind upon the land.

O, welcome, welcome!

Here lies, Andrages, alas! too great

A trial for thy art.

And. There's life in him:

From whence these wounds?

Zir. O, 'tis no time for story.

And. 'Tis not mortal, my lord: bow him gently,

And help me to infuse this into him.

The soul is but asleep, and not gone forth.

Ther. O, O!

Zir. Hark! the prince does live.

Ther. Whate'er thou art hast given me now a life,

And with it all my cares and miseries,

Expect not a reward: no, not a thanks.

If thou wouldst merit from me (yet who would

Be guilty of so lost an action?),

Restore me to my quietness again;

For life and that are most incompatible.

Zir. Still in despairs! I did not think till now

'Twas in the power of fortune to have robb'd

Thersames of himself. For pity, sir,

And reason, live: if you will die, die not:

Aglaura's murther'd: that's not so handsome; at least

Die not her murther'd and her murtherer too;

For that will surely follow. Look up, sir;

This violence of fortune cannot last ever:

Who knows

But all these clouds are shadows to set off

Your fairer days? If it grows blacker, and

The storms do rise, this harbour's always open.

Ther. What sayest thou, Aglaura?

Agl. What says Andrages?

And. Madam, would heaven his mind would admit

As easy cure as his body will!

'Twas only want of blood; and two hours' rest

Restores him to himself.

Zir. And, by that time,

It may be, Heav'n will give our miseries

Some ease. Come, sir, repose upon a bed;

There's time enough to-day.