Page:Works of Sir John Suckling.djvu/304

284 Bel. O madam! you must think

Wise Nature, of such rich mould as she was fram'd,

Would make as little waste as could be!

Queen. So, so.

What think you of the upper part o' th' nose, then;

Does it not look as, if it did give way,

The eyes should shortly have an interview?

Bel. You're too severe a critic, madam: so good

A wit as yours could make, where there were any,

All bless'd perfections. After all,

Next to your highness, I'm resolved to think

She is chiefest beauty.

Queen. Not next to me, my lord!

Now I am sure you flatter; but 'tis too late

To chide you for it. Good-night.

King. Good-night to all. Lord Cleonax,

A word in private! [They whisper.] Take away the light,

And shut the door.

Lor. Is the king gone to bed?

Par. An hour ago, my lord.

Lor. What if he should not be asleep yet?

Par. No matter; ere his tongue can speak, our swords

Shall kill. What, though he call us traitors?

'Twill be his last, and may be pardoned.

Come, sir, bravely on! fear's worse than death:

You're lord of all, or not of your own breath.

Lor. Nay, if I fear, may I not live! Follow.

King. Trust me, most sad and strange!

A flood of grief beats at my eyes for vent.