Page:Works of Sir John Suckling.djvu/316

296 Bel. Where is Francelia?

Clar. My lord,

She is not well, and craves your lordship's pardon.

Bel. What, sick upon

A masque-night, and when the king sends for her?

Come, come, that must not be: which way is she?

By heaven!

Clar. By heaven!

Nor will she ever see you more, if he—

Bel. I understand you—I am Bellamino—

If e'er he see the morning. I had decreed it;

Nor should he have surviv'd three days, had he

Been ne'er so silent. This night's his last, Petruchio:

This arm shall make it so; I will not trust

My brother with the act.

Clar. Nobly resolv'd!

But how or where, my lord?

Bel. No matter where.

Rather than fail, I'll make the presence chamber

Be the place of execution.

Clar. Still nobly!

But, my lord

Bel. 'But' again, Petruchio?

Clar. And again, my lord.

No, no, my lady loves you well, but loves

Her honour too; and there are ways (I hope)

To keep the one, and yet not lose the other.

Do not I know my lady lies alone,

And will feign herself sick this night, and all

On purpose too? am not I to let you

Into her chamber,

And to give out, the fact once done, that he

Killed himself?