Page:Works of Sir John Suckling.djvu/203

Rh Pellegrin. Or as if he had overstrain'd himself

At a deep note in a ballad.

Nassurat. What think you of an oyster at a low ebb?

Some liquor for him!

You will not be a pimp for life, you rogue,

Nor hold a door to save a gentleman.

You are—pox on him, what he is, Pellegrin?

If you love me, let's stifle him, and say

'Twas a sudden judgment upon him for swearing.

The posture will confirm it.

Pellegrin. We're in excellent humour;

Let's have another bottle, and give out

That Ann, my wife, is dead.

Shall I, gentlemen?

Nassurat. Rare rogue in buckram, let me bite thee.

Before me thou shalt go out wit, and upon

As good terms as some of those in the ballad, too.

Pellegrin. Shall I so? Why then, foutre for the Guise!

Saints shall accrue; and ours shall be

The black-ey'd beauties of the time.

I'll tickle you for old ends of plays.

Around, around, around. Around, around, around.

Somebody's at the door!

Pr'ythee, pr'ythee: sirrah, sirrah, try thy skill.

Nassurat. Who's there?

Messenger. One Sturgelot a gaoler here?

Nassurat. Such a one there was, my friend, but he's gone

Above an hour ago.

Now did this rogue whisper in his heart, that's a lie;

And for that very reason I'll cut his throat.

Pellegrin. No, pr'ythee now,—for thinking?

Thou shalt not take the pains; the law shall do't.

Nassurat. How, how?

Pellegrin. Marry, we'll write it over, when we're gone,

He join'd in the plot, and put himself into

This posture, merely to disguise it to

The world.

Nassurat. Excellent! Here's to thee for that conceit!

We should have made rare statesmen, we are so witty in

our mischief! Another song, and so let's go: it will be

time.