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 |  |
When travers'd slowly up from Door oth' room
A Lady, thinly'st Vayl'd, to proper whom
Fine, gallant Pers'nage; Habit plain and neat;
Best-carryag'd too; who drawing neer the seat,
Clasping Ortheris round, in hast, cry'd out,
My dearest Lord! when now, past jealous doubt
'Twas all but Dream, turn'd staring; Who art thou
(Sayd he again) com'st to torment me now?
Voyc'd, shaped thus? I am (replyed she)
Your Spouse and Wife. My wife? transformed he
Reply'd in hast, all wonder) she agen,
Your Wife Kalaspe. How those Fates mock men
To death (sayd he, strait gazing through her Hood)
Hah? somewhat here disturbs my frantick blood
(Went on) afflicts me; sure 'tis gen'rall Night
Of Doom, dead waken round: Dear, dearest Spright,
She was long since by th' Rock torn, batter'd, slain;
I saw her mournfull Ghost. Sore bruised, tane
For dead, my Lord, (sayd she) but Heav'ns supply'd—
Go, th'art her lovelyer Ghost, (he suddain cry'd)
And this, Ghosts Feild, that gloomy Elizium:
All's dead. No shade, my Lord (sayd she) become
(Wept, throwing off her Vayl) Disown your poor
Though true Kalaspe, thus? strange brooding hour
Of Miracles! sayd he (soul-rapt, love-flaming)
Caught, grasp'd her, kisses her; then strait exclaiming;
Nay now th' art she indeed, my best Kalaspe!
That Dying Hour's at hand (behold) last Gasp,
And Heav'ns ordain through monstrous favour, I
Must burst to Death in Joyfull Extasie:
Gods, ayde my Reason, least your Kindest load
Ore-whelm, confound this frailer Flesh and blood.
A Lady, thinly'st Vayl'd, to proper whom
Fine, gallant Pers'nage; Habit plain and neat;
Best-carryag'd too; who drawing neer the seat,
Clasping Ortheris round, in hast, cry'd out,
My dearest Lord! when now, past jealous doubt
'Twas all but Dream, turn'd staring; Who art thou
(Sayd he again) com'st to torment me now?
Voyc'd, shaped thus? I am (replyed she)
Your Spouse and Wife. My wife? transformed he
Reply'd in hast, all wonder) she agen,
Your Wife Kalaspe. How those Fates mock men
To death (sayd he, strait gazing through her Hood)
Hah? somewhat here disturbs my frantick blood
(Went on) afflicts me; sure 'tis gen'rall Night
Of Doom, dead waken round: Dear, dearest Spright,
She was long since by th' Rock torn, batter'd, slain;
I saw her mournfull Ghost. Sore bruised, tane
For dead, my Lord, (sayd she) but Heav'ns supply'd—
Go, th'art her lovelyer Ghost, (he suddain cry'd)
And this, Ghosts Feild, that gloomy Elizium:
All's dead. No shade, my Lord (sayd she) become
(Wept, throwing off her Vayl) Disown your poor
Though true Kalaspe, thus? strange brooding hour
Of Miracles! sayd he (soul-rapt, love-flaming)
Caught, grasp'd her, kisses her; then strait exclaiming;
136
That Dying Hour's at hand (behold) last Gasp,
And Heav'ns ordain through monstrous favour, I
Must burst to Death in Joyfull Extasie:
Gods, ayde my Reason, least your Kindest load
Ore-whelm, confound this frailer Flesh and blood.
| The History of Polindor and Flostella | |