Page:Works of Sir John Suckling.djvu/242

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Bren. What shout is that?

Str. They have taken Almerin, my lord.

Bren. Almerin? the devil thank 'em for't!

When I had hunted hard all day, and now

At length unherded the proud deer, the curs

Have snatch'd him up.

Sound a retreat: there's nothing now behind.

Who saw Doran?

Str. Shall we bring Almerin in?

Bren. No; gazing is low triumph;

Convey him fairly to the king; he fought

It fairly.

Dor. What youth was that whom you bestrid, my lord,

And sav'd from all our swords to-day? Was he

Not of the enemy?

Bren. It may be so.

Str. The governor's son, Fresolin, his mistress' brother.

Bren. No matter who. 'Tis pity the rough hand

Of war should early courages destroy,

Before they bud, and show themselves i' th' heat

Of action.

Mar. I threw, my lord, a youth upon a bank,

Which seeking, after the retreat, I found

Dead, and a woman—the pretty daughter of

The forester, Lucilia.

Bren. See, see, Doran, a sad experiment!

Woman's the cowardli'st and coldest thing

The world brings forth: yet love, as fire works water,

Makes it boil o'er, and do things contrary

To 'ts proper nature. I should shed a tear,

Could I tell how! Ah, poor Lucilia!

Thou didst for me what did as ill become thee.

Pray, see her gently bury'd.

Boy, send the surgeon to the tent—I bleed.

What lousy cottages th'ave given our souls!

Each petty storm shakes them into disorder;

And't costs more pains to patch them up again,

Than they are worth by much. I'm weary of

The tenement.