Page:Works of Sir John Suckling.djvu/262

242 Which as we cannot look on but with trouble,

So take't away we cannot but with danger.

War there hath foulest face, and I most fear it,

Where the pretence is fair'st. Religion

And liberty, most specious names, they urge;

Which, like the bills of subtle mountebanks,

Fill'd with great promises of curing all,

Though by the wise pass'd by as common cosenage,

Yet by th' unknowing multitude they're still

Admir'd and flock'd unto.

King. Is there no way

To disabuse them?

Mel. All is now too late.

'The vulgar in religion are like

Unknown lands; those that first possess them have them.'

Then, sir, consider, justness of cause is nothing:

When things are risen to the point they are,

'Tis either not examin'd or believed

Among the warlike.

The better cause the Grecians had of yore:

Yet were the gods themselves divided in't;

And the foul ravisher found as good protection

As the much injur'd husband.

Nor are you, sir, assur'd of all behind you;

For, though your person in your subjects' hearts

Stands highly honour'd and belov'd, yet are

There certain acts of state, which men call grievances,

Abroad; and, though they bare them in the times

Of peace, yet will they now perchance seek to

Be free, and throw them off. 'For know, dread sir,

The common people are much like the sea,

That suffers things to fall and sink unto

The bottom in a calm, which, in a storm

Stirr'd and enrag'd, it lifts, and does keep up.'

Then time distempers cures more safely, sir,

Than physic does, or instant letting-blood:

Religion now is a young mistress there,

For which each man will fight and die at least;

Let it alone a while, and 'twill become

A kind of marry'd wife: people will be

Content to live with it in quietness,

If that at least may be. My voice is therefore, sir,

For peace.