The History of Polindor and Flostella :: :: University of Virginia Library

Rare, charming Voice! but (O) how rare,
Breath'd by that shee so only fair!
Whose Face and bodi's beauties be
Compos'd with so rare Symmetry
(Heavens choice Designe) so sweetly accorded,
One heavenly consort all afforded;
And were the Harmony oth' eye;
Seem'd Natures silent Melody:
N'ere man so doubly blest; th' Eye, Eare!
Record it Love, 'twas only here.
Each trembling Noate, those Coralls wrought
(When born) seem'd swadled, wrapt methought,
And (as soone dying) Embalm'd within
So sweet Breath, as perfum'd 't had beene;
Came flying in a precious Ayre
Of Odours, 'bove Arabian far:
The same sweet Noats (you would have deem'd)
The severall souls of Musick seem'd.

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O, had I caught and kept alive
Those precious sounds (beyond Reprive)
Those Spirits of sweetness as they flew!
So t'have had constant Musick, True
FLOSTELLAS Self by me in those:
Her Breath, preserv'd and relick'd close,
Had serv'd for soveraign protection
'Gainst poys'nous Plagues and all infection.
If that fam'd Harp, could Rivers cause
To stand at wanton Gaze, and pause;
Beasts, stubborn Rocks, and burly Trees,
Made dance in Antique Revels these;
Her Voyce must greater Magick prove,
And make them court her, fall in Love.
Whilst breath'd Flostel and clos'd her song
Behold, most pritty wonder sprung;
Th' ambitious Nightingale reply'd,
Through pertest emulations pride
(Chief Chorister ith' feather'd Court
To th' royall Eagle fam'd) in sport
Would sing her part, and nimbly runs
Her fine-poys'd, quaint divisions:
Now Flostel, then the Nightingale,
Now she, then she, which should prevail.
The Chirper's fal'n to earnest now,
No more must Jesting strains allow;
'Twas sober Duell, no idle play,
Sharp Brest contention for the Day:
Till th' ore-strain'd Bird presum'd still higher,
As life 'twould forfeit thus, Expire.
Which pirtying, I was fain to intreat,
Her softer Heart would make retreat;
And end that dangerous strife so nye,
By yeilding a false Victory:
This Quarrel must not ruin prove
Of such a voyce, to th' Spring and Grove:
Her Mercy rather should reprive
(Double honour's Trophie) keep alive.
When, loth to stifle yet my blisses,
I silenc'd those sweet Lips with kisses;
Though but th' Eares ayery Joyes transferr'd
To th' solid Touch; so, sav'd the Bird.