Page:Works of Sir John Suckling.djvu/256

236 I was a fool to think death only kept

The doors of ill-paid love, when or disdain

Or spite could let me out as well!

Dor. Right;

Were I as you, it should no more trouble me

To free myself of love than to spit out

That which made me sick.

Bren. I'll tell her so, that she may laugh at me,

As at a prisoner threat'ning his guard

He will break loose, and so is made the faster.

She hath charms.

Doran can fetch in a rebellious heart.

E'en while it is conspiring liberty.

O, she hath all

The virtues of her sex, and not the vices;

Chaste and unsullied as first op'ning lilies

Or untouch'd buds.

Dor. Chaste? why, do you honour me,

Because I throw myself not off a precipice?

'Tis her ruin to be otherwise.

Though we blame those that kill themselves, my lord,

We praise not him that keeps himself alive,

And deserves nothing.

Bren. And 'tis the least.

She does triumph, when she does but appear:

I have as many rivals as beholders.

Dor. All that increases but our jealousies;

If you have now such qualms for that you have not,

What will you have for that you shall possess?

Bren. Dull heretic!

Know I have these, because I have not her.

When I have her, I shall have these no more.

Her fancy now, her virtue then, will govern;

And, as I use to watch with doubtful eye

The wavering needle in the best sundial,

Till it has settled, then the trouble's o'er,

Because I know, when it is fix'd, it's true:

So here my doubts are all afore me. Sure,

Doran, crown'd conquerors are but the types

Of lovers, which enjoy, and really

Possess what th' other have in dreams! I'll send

A challenge to him.