Page:Works of Sir John Suckling.djvu/306

286 My father's angry ghost, I see, is not full

Appeased yet.

Why should I make of murther thus begun

A massacre?

He did my father right in his revenge:

Ay, but he wrong'd him first; and yet, who knows

But it was justice to attempt by force?

The removal of

Great favourites, though enemies to th' state,

Is not so warrantable—I'm in a maze.

Something I'll do, but what I cannot tell:

I fear the worst; lust never ended well.

Fran. Fie, leave this importunity, my lord!

I shall yield else, by this kiss I shall.

Bel. By this, and this, and this, thou shalt!

Heavens, what a breath is here! Thy father fed

On musk and amber, when he begot thee, sure!

The wanton air,

Chaf'd by the hot scents of Arabic spices,

Is nothing nigh so sweet:

The ambrosia, the gods themselves were drunk with,

Dwells on thy lips.

Fran. Come, come, you flatter, 'tis on yours, my lord.

Bel. On mine? Alas, Nature gave us the prickles,

You the roses, but meant that they should grow together.

Fran. So, so: what, if the King or Florelio saw ye?

Bel. What, if they did? I can fear nothing now

But surfeits.

Come, we lose time, my fairest, do we not?

This is the minute.

Flo. By heaven,

This is not fair, madam.

Fran. Wonder strikes me dumb.

Flo. How does she kiss, favourite?