Page:Works of Sir John Suckling.djvu/280

260 Alm. Heavens!

What thing shall I appear unto the world?

Here might my ignorance find some excuse,

But, there,

I was distracted. None, but one enrag'd

With anger to a savageness, would e'er

Have drawn a sword upon such gentle sweetness.

Be kind, and kill me—kill me, one of you!

Kill me, if't be but to preserve my wits.

Dear Iphigene, take thy revenge, it will

Not misbecome thy sex at all; for 'tis

An act of pity, not of cruelty,

Thus to despatch a miserable man.

Fran. And thou wouldst be more miserable yet,

While, like a bird made prisoner by itself,

Thou beat'st and beat'st thyself 'gainst everything,

And dost pass by that which should let thee out.

Alm. Is it my fault,

Or heaven's? Fortune, when she would play upon me,

Like ill musicians, wound me up so high,

That I must crack sooner than move in tune.

Fran. Still you rave;

While we for want of present help may perish.

Alm. Right.

A surgeon! I'll go find one instantly.

The enemy too!—I had forgot!

O, what fatality govern'd this night!

Fran. How like an unthrift's case will mine be now?

For all the wealth he loses shifts but's place;

And still the world enjoys it: and so will 't you,

Sweet Iphigene, though I possess you not.

Iph. What excelleuceexcellence [sic] of nature's this! Have you

So perfectly forgiv'n already, as to

Consider me a loss? I doubt which sex

I shall be happier in. Climates of friendship

Are not less pleasant, 'cause they are less scorching,

Than those of love; and under them we'll live:

Such precious links of that we'll tie our souls

Together with, that the chains of the other

Shall be gross fetters to it.

Fran. But I fear

I cannot stay the making. O, would you

Had never undeceiv'd me! for I had died