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 |  |
Then running to th' World's Glory late, so prime,
Clermanthe's Self (sad Conquerours that time)
Half-nak'd she lay, not seen till then, reveal'd
Farther than Neck; by th' Altar's Turf conceal'd;
(Orsamnes thoughts orewhelm'd) found Senseless lying
Head tho left on, she seemed more than Dying:
Where sadly exclaym'd O strange, disast'rous fight!
As ever was brought forth by dreadful Night;
Black mischiefs Womb! Clermanthe, call'd, did say,
It was Orsamnes voyce. Each needful way
Thirsander strait (that Time afforded) us'd,
Her Temples bath'd, strong, powr'ful, Spirits infus'd
(Brought little Glass) since not least Wound appear'd,
Nor Bruise beheld; some strangling Death was fear'd;
Rub'd, bow'd her Body oft. Ah Horror! crying
Orsamnes mournful voyce You never dying
Powers above discharge my Life, since take
Chief Joy from me, so cease tormenting Rack
Prime worth's destroy'd. Thersander bath'd her Brest,
'Twas Cordial juice as good for th' Head exprest,
(Seldom forgot) her Body th' Other bow'd:
Through friendly Chance cold Water was allow'd,
Left by those Thieves, o' th' Face drops sprinkled were:
Orsamnes calling still, Clermanthe, there.
Clermanthe's Self (sad Conquerours that time)
Half-nak'd she lay, not seen till then, reveal'd
Farther than Neck; by th' Altar's Turf conceal'd;
(Orsamnes thoughts orewhelm'd) found Senseless lying
Head tho left on, she seemed more than Dying:
Where sadly exclaym'd O strange, disast'rous fight!
As ever was brought forth by dreadful Night;
Black mischiefs Womb! Clermanthe, call'd, did say,
It was Orsamnes voyce. Each needful way
Thirsander strait (that Time afforded) us'd,
Her Temples bath'd, strong, powr'ful, Spirits infus'd
(Brought little Glass) since not least Wound appear'd,
Nor Bruise beheld; some strangling Death was fear'd;
Rub'd, bow'd her Body oft. Ah Horror! crying
Orsamnes mournful voyce You never dying
Powers above discharge my Life, since take
Chief Joy from me, so cease tormenting Rack
Prime worth's destroy'd. Thersander bath'd her Brest,
'Twas Cordial juice as good for th' Head exprest,
(Seldom forgot) her Body th' Other bow'd:
Through friendly Chance cold Water was allow'd,
Left by those Thieves, o' th' Face drops sprinkled were:
Orsamnes calling still, Clermanthe, there.
| The Grecian Story | |