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 |  |
That Wench but newly gone, through Shades about;
Cautious Forenz, whose Chamber like some Scout
Open'd to th' Garden, blest, propitious chance
(Thinking indeed h'had weigh'd each Circumstance)
Stole with's dark Lanthorn down (though walking mus'd
Oft late) to th' Postern-door, where found as us'd
That's ready Key, left chiefly for his ease;
That might by th' early Dawn (if so did please).
Go forth, return, 'bout Life and Deaths Affairs.
Door being ope, he whistled strait, then stares
Upon that neighbouring Cops with forged Beard;
When forth the rous'd Therzames strait appear'd
With's Coffin all disguis'd, and forward pac'd
To th' Garden-door; from whence most softly trac'd
Behind his leading Chief (Forenz as trod
Some dismall Maze of death) to th' sad Abode
Oth' dead, the Vault; strait gazing wildly round,
Where sweet'st, belov'd Dorisbe might be found:
Ghost nigh become. So, nimbly, down with that
(Low cry'd Forenz) and help to take up strait
Your Mistress; pointing forth to th' Coffin then:
Ay-me! forlorn! (the poor Thersames when)
And have I found at length dead Mistress? cryes.
No, no (sayd th' other) whilst she lives; be wise;
Quick, take her up. Ah sweetest, dearest Soul
(Sayd he) my jealous Boading Heart! Controul
Those fonder thoughts (the stout Forenz replyd)
Away with her. Thus, hoys'd by eithers side
Their new false Coffin's born (the Garden-door
Soft closed, lock'd) their Cloaks thrown spreading o're
(Strange Fates abuse!) till, entred now the Feilds,
Path's justly fear'd; more comfort straying yeilds,
Wheeling about; Therrames mournfull Heart
Panting Death's solemn March, their Fun'rall-part
Bore sighing Lungs: till passing joyntly by
(Unwares) th' old broken Shepherds Cot, most nigh;
Th' arch-guilty Roague, strait going to Divorce
(Just then) those precious Fingers (dismall curse!)
From th' dainty'st hand, since could not from those Rings;
These judg'd Pursuer-like; forth madly flings
With horrour, Prize and Body left behind:
Part-view'd through th' open Wall, as glimring shind:
So that Forenz with's Lanthorn glanced in.
Where true Dorisbe (so, sad Corps) was seen.
Good heaven's (cry'd out Forenz) we're mock'd, abus'd;
Here lies Dorisbe. Fates and death! (Soul-bruis'd
Thersames cry'd) alas! and is this she?
Dear, truest Corps now, butcher'd, slain! sayd he;
Grasp'd, kissed her. No, no she breaths, she lives
(Sayd next Forenz, though strangely Amaz'd, misgives
Whilst th' honest Heart) 'tis onely deeper Trance
I cast her in; be cheer'd: with eagrest glance
Scouting th' whole body round, though then espy'd
Nor wound, nor seeming bruise: at last descry'd
Those Rings; skin rippl'd 'bout them, broke: Behold
Griev'd Youth (sayd he) those tempting Gems and Gold
That caus'd this grand Delusion; quick, convay
Her body hence: whilst he; Dear, dearest clay,
I shall not long survive thy Sweetness (cry'd)
Nor mine own Joy. Sh' has not least Bruise (reply'd
Forenz) no more; that soveraign Potion oft
I've us'd; quick, bear her hence. Thus closing soft
Her Coffins top, more ayre (though nimbly then
Their own stuff'd Coffin broke, through ready mean
Oth' fled Roagues borrow'd tools, least being found
Caus'd jealous Wonder; pouring th' Earth on ground
Planks took along) with quick though wary'st paces
Towards that Garden-cabin either traces.
Cautious Forenz, whose Chamber like some Scout
Open'd to th' Garden, blest, propitious chance
(Thinking indeed h'had weigh'd each Circumstance)
Stole with's dark Lanthorn down (though walking mus'd
Oft late) to th' Postern-door, where found as us'd
That's ready Key, left chiefly for his ease;
That might by th' early Dawn (if so did please).
Go forth, return, 'bout Life and Deaths Affairs.
Door being ope, he whistled strait, then stares
Upon that neighbouring Cops with forged Beard;
When forth the rous'd Therzames strait appear'd
With's Coffin all disguis'd, and forward pac'd
To th' Garden-door; from whence most softly trac'd
Behind his leading Chief (Forenz as trod
Some dismall Maze of death) to th' sad Abode
Oth' dead, the Vault; strait gazing wildly round,
Where sweet'st, belov'd Dorisbe might be found:
Ghost nigh become. So, nimbly, down with that
(Low cry'd Forenz) and help to take up strait
Your Mistress; pointing forth to th' Coffin then:
Ay-me! forlorn! (the poor Thersames when)
And have I found at length dead Mistress? cryes.
No, no (sayd th' other) whilst she lives; be wise;
Quick, take her up. Ah sweetest, dearest Soul
(Sayd he) my jealous Boading Heart! Controul
Those fonder thoughts (the stout Forenz replyd)
Away with her. Thus, hoys'd by eithers side
Their new false Coffin's born (the Garden-door
Soft closed, lock'd) their Cloaks thrown spreading o're
149
Path's justly fear'd; more comfort straying yeilds,
Wheeling about; Therrames mournfull Heart
Panting Death's solemn March, their Fun'rall-part
Bore sighing Lungs: till passing joyntly by
(Unwares) th' old broken Shepherds Cot, most nigh;
Th' arch-guilty Roague, strait going to Divorce
(Just then) those precious Fingers (dismall curse!)
From th' dainty'st hand, since could not from those Rings;
These judg'd Pursuer-like; forth madly flings
With horrour, Prize and Body left behind:
Part-view'd through th' open Wall, as glimring shind:
So that Forenz with's Lanthorn glanced in.
Where true Dorisbe (so, sad Corps) was seen.
Good heaven's (cry'd out Forenz) we're mock'd, abus'd;
Here lies Dorisbe. Fates and death! (Soul-bruis'd
Thersames cry'd) alas! and is this she?
Dear, truest Corps now, butcher'd, slain! sayd he;
Grasp'd, kissed her. No, no she breaths, she lives
(Sayd next Forenz, though strangely Amaz'd, misgives
Whilst th' honest Heart) 'tis onely deeper Trance
I cast her in; be cheer'd: with eagrest glance
Scouting th' whole body round, though then espy'd
Nor wound, nor seeming bruise: at last descry'd
Those Rings; skin rippl'd 'bout them, broke: Behold
Griev'd Youth (sayd he) those tempting Gems and Gold
That caus'd this grand Delusion; quick, convay
Her body hence: whilst he; Dear, dearest clay,
I shall not long survive thy Sweetness (cry'd)
Nor mine own Joy. Sh' has not least Bruise (reply'd
Forenz) no more; that soveraign Potion oft
I've us'd; quick, bear her hence. Thus closing soft
Her Coffins top, more ayre (though nimbly then
Their own stuff'd Coffin broke, through ready mean
Oth' fled Roagues borrow'd tools, least being found
Caus'd jealous Wonder; pouring th' Earth on ground
150
Towards that Garden-cabin either traces.
| The History of Polindor and Flostella | |