Page:Works of Sir John Suckling.djvu/257

Rh Dor. Do, and be thought a madman! To what purpose?

If she love him, she will but hate you more.

Lovers in favour, Brennoralt,

Are gamesters in good fortune; the more you set them,

The more they get.

Bren. I'll see her, then, this night; by Heaven, I will!

Dor. Where? in the citadel?

Bren. Know what, and why!

Dor. [aside]. He raves. [Aloud] Brennoralt!

Bren. Let me alone!

I conjure thee, by the discretion

Left betwixt us—that's thine;

For mine's devour'd by injuries of fortune

Leave me to myself.

Dor. I have done.

Bren. Is there such a passage

As thou hast told me of into the castle?

Rag. There is, my lord.

Bren. And dar'st thou let me in?

Rag. If you, my lord, will venture.

Bren. There are no sentries near it?

Rag. None.

Bren. How to the chamber afterward?

Rag. Her woman.

Bren. What's she?

Rag. A wicket to my lady's secrets,

One that stands up to marriage with me.

Bren. There!

Upon thy life be secret!

Rag. Else all punishment to ingratitude!

Bren. Enough.

I am a storm within till I am there.

O Doran,

That that which is so pleasant to behold

Should be such pain within!

Dor. Poor Brennoralt!

Thou art the martyr of a thousand tyrants:

Love, honour, and ambition reign by turns,

And show their power upon thee.

Bren. Why, let them! I'm still Brennoralt. 'Ev'n kings

Themselves are by their servants rul'd sometimes:

Let their own slaves govern them at odd hours,

Yet not subject their persons or their powers.'