The History of Polindor and Flostella With Other Poems. By I. H. [i.e. John Harington] The third Edition, Revised and much Enlarged |
 |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
|
| 1. |
| 3. |
|
|
 | The History of Polindor and Flostella |  |
The Cell thus rifled, cleer'd, they hal'd her strait
Along with them, threatning Deaths dismall fate
If ought refus'd; Who, though her horrid Fear
(Sweet'st Soul!) prov'd living Death, chose rather there
Thus to be drag'd by them in slower fashion,
Since hoping thence more Time for preservation:
What piteons glancings back to th' blisfull Cell!
How Sigh'd to all her Joyes in that, farwell!
Thus, passing 'midsts that black and ugly'st Crew,
Th' first, pure, created Light, when breaking through
Chaos, she seem'd; or in some moving Cloud
Wrapt Lightning flash: then't shew'd, as if that croud
Of Nights brats had pluck'd down the silver Moon
(Which then prov'd hid, obscur'd) that Darkness soon
Might choak th' whole Earth; as though they'd massacre
All Excellence, what's counted perfect, rare.
Dismall death's Progress 'twas, when drowsie Heaven,
Justice, both tranced seem'd; and Rapine even
Govern'd the World. One while her Tongue implores
Th' arch-villains, then th' Heav'ns highest Pow'rs adores,
Both Equall-deaf; she look'd upon Trees, Stars,
Whilst t'one, but skreen'd their Ruffians, t'other dares
Hold Light to th' barborous work; whose Lamps yet burning,
Should rather (their Skie-sockets over-turning)
Fall on their heads; Nought seem'd with hopes to flatter;
All's quiet, lull'd, as Hell had brib'd whole Nature
To one grand Villany. Thus, reach'd the Path,
That trod some smaller while (though with less faith)
They chang'd their Course into the right-hand Wood
(Her Plaints then doubling) one oth' Cut-throat brood
Sounding small Whistle strait, to which Another
Answer'd for sign again (being sixt sworn Brother
Did tend their Wardrobe with their prize, far off)
That neerly'st follow'd they, where, safe enough,
They might first Ravish her, then, slaughtering kill;
'Twas Second-course to th' last, daintier blood still.
That month too Pluto, God of wealth and prize,
They us'd to please with fair She-sacrifice
(Mayd, Widow, Wife, no matter which, so one)
Now far more strict, Devout, more bloody grown;
That Pluto might, since dangerous fears at hand,
Safe Guard, protect them, whilst were yet on Land.
Along with them, threatning Deaths dismall fate
If ought refus'd; Who, though her horrid Fear
(Sweet'st Soul!) prov'd living Death, chose rather there
Thus to be drag'd by them in slower fashion,
Since hoping thence more Time for preservation:
What piteons glancings back to th' blisfull Cell!
How Sigh'd to all her Joyes in that, farwell!
Thus, passing 'midsts that black and ugly'st Crew,
Th' first, pure, created Light, when breaking through
Chaos, she seem'd; or in some moving Cloud
Wrapt Lightning flash: then't shew'd, as if that croud
Of Nights brats had pluck'd down the silver Moon
(Which then prov'd hid, obscur'd) that Darkness soon
Might choak th' whole Earth; as though they'd massacre
All Excellence, what's counted perfect, rare.
110
Justice, both tranced seem'd; and Rapine even
Govern'd the World. One while her Tongue implores
Th' arch-villains, then th' Heav'ns highest Pow'rs adores,
Both Equall-deaf; she look'd upon Trees, Stars,
Whilst t'one, but skreen'd their Ruffians, t'other dares
Hold Light to th' barborous work; whose Lamps yet burning,
Should rather (their Skie-sockets over-turning)
Fall on their heads; Nought seem'd with hopes to flatter;
All's quiet, lull'd, as Hell had brib'd whole Nature
To one grand Villany. Thus, reach'd the Path,
That trod some smaller while (though with less faith)
They chang'd their Course into the right-hand Wood
(Her Plaints then doubling) one oth' Cut-throat brood
Sounding small Whistle strait, to which Another
Answer'd for sign again (being sixt sworn Brother
Did tend their Wardrobe with their prize, far off)
That neerly'st follow'd they, where, safe enough,
They might first Ravish her, then, slaughtering kill;
'Twas Second-course to th' last, daintier blood still.
That month too Pluto, God of wealth and prize,
They us'd to please with fair She-sacrifice
(Mayd, Widow, Wife, no matter which, so one)
Now far more strict, Devout, more bloody grown;
That Pluto might, since dangerous fears at hand,
Safe Guard, protect them, whilst were yet on Land.
| The History of Polindor and Flostella | |