The Grecian Story Being an Historical Poem, in Five Books. To which is Annex'd The Grove: Consisting of Divers Shorter Poems upon several Subjects. By J. H. [i.e. John Harington] |
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 | The Grecian Story |  |
This view'd, beheld, strange Horrors seiz'd, possest
Her fainting Powers, sad, Storm-distemper'd Brest;
Such wickedness in th' World should be disclos'd,
Nay Woman-kind; her self withal Expos'd.
To that grand danger Death: like Glass was seen
In that poor Dog what She should there have been,
Sighs for whose Funeral, belov'd of late,
More for her Fears conjoyn'd, perplext Estate.
Laid on the Bed she Rose, then Walk'd about;
Life's Sickly Lamp seem'd near to going out.
Death's dreadful Masque, Ghosts, Sables Winding-shrouds
(For Musick Knells and Groans) her Fancy o're-clouds.
Through sad conceit like Graves that under Floor,
Since durst not speak (tho fatal Storms did Roar.)
Acquaint the Duke, complain; confirmed mind,
Such prov'd Gondace's boldest Front, combin'd.
Smooth, crafty Tongue, encourag'd (last) far rather
Through Powerful Charms o're her inchanted Father.
(High thoughts of Her conjoyn'd withal) that She
Would Swear, 'twas a Lye; base, spleenful Forgery:
Clermanthe kill'd her Dog, had poyson'd there
That Broth herself; 'Twas made by th' Nurse howe're:
(Tho confident the old Nurse abhorr'd that Sin;
Step'd partly aside Gondace dropt it in)
Out-staring all till seem'd but Envious Spight,
As Saucy check'd their close Content, delight.
The Duke enrag'd, found her Life become,
Through either's Hate, like Rack's tormenting Doom.
If silent was, Death shortly seiz'd her still,
Her Soul howe're the Whore's Tenant seem'd at will.
Thus down she sate, like Sorrow's mournful Spouse,
Death's Bride as 'twere; did th' utmost Courage rouze.
Still Beauteous, Lovely, tho with self debated:
What should she do? each hand Destruction waited.
When clearer thoughts these words did seem t'impart,
Clermanthe's Hope; kind Beam did chear her Heart.
Thus rais'd, resolv'd (young years ne're more discreet)
For flight she streight prepar'd her nimble feet.
The rest o'th' Broth was thrown away, lest spy'd;
Supp'd by that Girl, whoe're, thereof they dy'd.
Th' Old Nurse, (poor harmless Wretch) condemn'd for all
That little Dogs might seem Death Natural.
Her fainting Powers, sad, Storm-distemper'd Brest;
Such wickedness in th' World should be disclos'd,
Nay Woman-kind; her self withal Expos'd.
To that grand danger Death: like Glass was seen
In that poor Dog what She should there have been,
Sighs for whose Funeral, belov'd of late,
More for her Fears conjoyn'd, perplext Estate.
Laid on the Bed she Rose, then Walk'd about;
Life's Sickly Lamp seem'd near to going out.
48
(For Musick Knells and Groans) her Fancy o're-clouds.
Through sad conceit like Graves that under Floor,
Since durst not speak (tho fatal Storms did Roar.)
Acquaint the Duke, complain; confirmed mind,
Such prov'd Gondace's boldest Front, combin'd.
Smooth, crafty Tongue, encourag'd (last) far rather
Through Powerful Charms o're her inchanted Father.
(High thoughts of Her conjoyn'd withal) that She
Would Swear, 'twas a Lye; base, spleenful Forgery:
Clermanthe kill'd her Dog, had poyson'd there
That Broth herself; 'Twas made by th' Nurse howe're:
(Tho confident the old Nurse abhorr'd that Sin;
Step'd partly aside Gondace dropt it in)
Out-staring all till seem'd but Envious Spight,
As Saucy check'd their close Content, delight.
The Duke enrag'd, found her Life become,
Through either's Hate, like Rack's tormenting Doom.
If silent was, Death shortly seiz'd her still,
Her Soul howe're the Whore's Tenant seem'd at will.
Thus down she sate, like Sorrow's mournful Spouse,
Death's Bride as 'twere; did th' utmost Courage rouze.
Still Beauteous, Lovely, tho with self debated:
What should she do? each hand Destruction waited.
When clearer thoughts these words did seem t'impart,
Clermanthe's Hope; kind Beam did chear her Heart.
Thus rais'd, resolv'd (young years ne're more discreet)
For flight she streight prepar'd her nimble feet.
The rest o'th' Broth was thrown away, lest spy'd;
Supp'd by that Girl, whoe're, thereof they dy'd.
Th' Old Nurse, (poor harmless Wretch) condemn'd for all
That little Dogs might seem Death Natural.
| The Grecian Story | |