The History of Polindor and Flostella With Other Poems. By I. H. [i.e. John Harington] The third Edition, Revised and much Enlarged |
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 | The History of Polindor and Flostella |  |
Dance likewise done, That Formost Couple strait
Advanc'd to th' upper end, where fitly'st sate
The Duke Orthere; Kneel'd, crying, Our Lord and Father
When, Startled he, ore-whelm'd confounded rather
(Breath fail'd) cries, Who art thou com'st with that Name,
And shape both, thus to torture me? I am,
My Lord (sayd she) your Daughter Hah? my Daughter?
(Sayd he agen) such once I had; When caught her
By th' lovely'st trembling Hand (more grasping) neer,
Least cheated with some Shade: Your Daughter (here
Sayd she) Dorisbe. Vanish'd Ghosts walk then
(Sayd he) dead Corps she prov'd, when but Fifteen;
Bury'd. Supposed dead, my Lord, inter'd
(Sayd she again) but Heav'ns—What was't I heard
(Sayd she) supposed dead? Am I awake?
No doubt, my Lord, (sayd she) O do not take
(Sayd he) th' Advantage of that comely'st Face,
Voyce, gentle Girl, to swell my Griefs (alas)
Make me more Wretch'd. When, weeping (lo) soon after,
Smiles mixt, Heav'n knowes (sayd she) I am your Daughter
Which truth affirm'd Polindor, standing by.
When snatching her in's grasping armes, more nigh
To th' panting heart, joyn'd kisses; Th' art (sayd he)
My Girl, my lov'd Dorisbe; very she;
Th' art she indeed. When th' Lady kneeling new,
And this my Spouse, my Lord (sayd she, to view
Shewing Thersames) for which, though virtuous Prize,
I beg your pardon. Th' hast it Daughter, rise
(Sayd he) the Man seems worthy'st of esteem:
Mean while, Spectators did transformed seem.
Advanc'd to th' upper end, where fitly'st sate
The Duke Orthere; Kneel'd, crying, Our Lord and Father
When, Startled he, ore-whelm'd confounded rather
(Breath fail'd) cries, Who art thou com'st with that Name,
And shape both, thus to torture me? I am,
My Lord (sayd she) your Daughter Hah? my Daughter?
(Sayd he agen) such once I had; When caught her
By th' lovely'st trembling Hand (more grasping) neer,
Least cheated with some Shade: Your Daughter (here
Sayd she) Dorisbe. Vanish'd Ghosts walk then
(Sayd he) dead Corps she prov'd, when but Fifteen;
Bury'd. Supposed dead, my Lord, inter'd
(Sayd she again) but Heav'ns—What was't I heard
(Sayd she) supposed dead? Am I awake?
No doubt, my Lord, (sayd she) O do not take
(Sayd he) th' Advantage of that comely'st Face,
Voyce, gentle Girl, to swell my Griefs (alas)
Make me more Wretch'd. When, weeping (lo) soon after,
Smiles mixt, Heav'n knowes (sayd she) I am your Daughter
135
When snatching her in's grasping armes, more nigh
To th' panting heart, joyn'd kisses; Th' art (sayd he)
My Girl, my lov'd Dorisbe; very she;
Th' art she indeed. When th' Lady kneeling new,
And this my Spouse, my Lord (sayd she, to view
Shewing Thersames) for which, though virtuous Prize,
I beg your pardon. Th' hast it Daughter, rise
(Sayd he) the Man seems worthy'st of esteem:
Mean while, Spectators did transformed seem.
| The History of Polindor and Flostella | |