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 |  |
But here our Pen again to th' mateless Dove,
Sweet'st best Flostella-turns; whose dearest Love,
Thought absent long, sad qualmish Dream besides
Of Tombs, with Ghost-masque, up she rouzes, glides
To th' window strait: Moon, Stars did glistering there
Obsequious Hand-mayds shine; Shades seem'd to wear
Mild, solemn Browes, her tallest Guard as 'twas;
But nought so lovely did adorn the place
As her Polindor's view: My dearest Dear,
O why so long? she cries. When nimbly here
Pale doubt, desire, to th' Iron-door transport her,
She peep'd once, twice through th' hole, but nought did court her
Like that beloved Shape: when, back retir'd,
Faln on her saddest Couch, there strait respir'd
(First) od'rous Sigh from her; then, richest Tear
Strain'd sweetly forth; and then th' Armes folded were
As Moan'd her drooping Heart. She mus'd, computes
His Journeys measure first; time fitly suits
For th' Uncles rising too, then, for's return;
Last, counting th' hours by th' Watch, begun to Mourn
(Her double Scoar cast nimbly up) as though
The Time too long for th' labour, Task did show:
Love too the Agent turn'd. Thus (short Alas
Sigh'd forth) to th' Window prov'd her second race;
Where faintly looking, What not yet? so bright?
Ay-me! withall she cry'd: when dismall'st Sight,
That Earth or Hell could belch forth, strook her Eyes.
She view'd that worthy'st Youth, whom she did prize
(Th'own Heart inform'd) next Heaven, brought between
Two, Corps-like, slain, cross th' open part oth' Green;
Born full-length, stript to's very Shirt (the Moon
Whilst Gazing seem'd as sad Spectator on,
Bright'st shining) crimson'd Shirt, with spots distain'd,
Like bleeding Hearts as 'twere; whilst hung disdain'd
Th' affrighted dangling Curls: upon his brest
Smooth Taf'ty-role with pendant flap did rest,
Bright Faulchion neer: his Arme held forth to view
(O dire!) broad gartring Ribbon, well she knew,
Conferr'd on him first day ith' Vestall wood,
And worn still wreathed round: whose Corps bestow'd
Ith' planted Shade, those Men were vanish'd, gone.
Sweet'st best Flostella-turns; whose dearest Love,
104
Of Tombs, with Ghost-masque, up she rouzes, glides
To th' window strait: Moon, Stars did glistering there
Obsequious Hand-mayds shine; Shades seem'd to wear
Mild, solemn Browes, her tallest Guard as 'twas;
But nought so lovely did adorn the place
As her Polindor's view: My dearest Dear,
O why so long? she cries. When nimbly here
Pale doubt, desire, to th' Iron-door transport her,
She peep'd once, twice through th' hole, but nought did court her
Like that beloved Shape: when, back retir'd,
Faln on her saddest Couch, there strait respir'd
(First) od'rous Sigh from her; then, richest Tear
Strain'd sweetly forth; and then th' Armes folded were
As Moan'd her drooping Heart. She mus'd, computes
His Journeys measure first; time fitly suits
For th' Uncles rising too, then, for's return;
Last, counting th' hours by th' Watch, begun to Mourn
(Her double Scoar cast nimbly up) as though
The Time too long for th' labour, Task did show:
Love too the Agent turn'd. Thus (short Alas
Sigh'd forth) to th' Window prov'd her second race;
Where faintly looking, What not yet? so bright?
Ay-me! withall she cry'd: when dismall'st Sight,
That Earth or Hell could belch forth, strook her Eyes.
She view'd that worthy'st Youth, whom she did prize
(Th'own Heart inform'd) next Heaven, brought between
Two, Corps-like, slain, cross th' open part oth' Green;
Born full-length, stript to's very Shirt (the Moon
Whilst Gazing seem'd as sad Spectator on,
Bright'st shining) crimson'd Shirt, with spots distain'd,
Like bleeding Hearts as 'twere; whilst hung disdain'd
Th' affrighted dangling Curls: upon his brest
Smooth Taf'ty-role with pendant flap did rest,
Bright Faulchion neer: his Arme held forth to view
(O dire!) broad gartring Ribbon, well she knew,
105
And worn still wreathed round: whose Corps bestow'd
Ith' planted Shade, those Men were vanish'd, gone.
| The History of Polindor and Flostella | |