Page:Works of Sir John Suckling.djvu/255

] I'll court my lord in absence; take off for you

The little strangenesses virgins wear at first

Look to the Palatine!

Mor. How is't, my dearest Iphigene?

Iph. Not well, I would retire.

Gen. A qualm?

Lord. His colour stole away; sank down as water

In a weather-glass pressed by a warm hand.

Mens. A cordial of kind looks

From the king!

Mor. Let us withdraw, and hear him.

Dor. Yes, to be married! What, are you mute now?

Bren. Thou cam'st too hastily upon me, put'st

So close the colours to mine eye, I could

Not see. It is impossible.

Dor. Impossible?

If 'twere impossible, it should be otherwise;

What can you imagine there of constancy,

Where 'tis so much their nature to love change,

That, when they say but what they are, they excuse

Themselves for what they do?

Bren. She hardly knows him yet, in such an instant.

Dor. O, you know not how fire flies, when it does catch

Light matter, woman.

Bren. No more of that! She is yet

The most precious thing in all my thoughts.

If it be so,

I am a lost thing in the world, Doran.

Dor. How?

Bren. Thou wilt in vain persuade me to be other.

Life, which to others is a good, that they

Enjoy, to me will be an evil, I

Shall suffer in.

Dor. Look on another face: that's present remedy.

Bren. How ill thou dost conclude!

'Cause there are pestilent airs, which kill men suddenly

In health, must there be sovereign, as suddenly

To cure in sickness? 't never was in nature.