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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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On FLOSTELLAS' Close Nun-like Retirement.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


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On FLOSTELLAS' Close Nun-like Retirement.

Why seemes (Sun cloath'd Flostel) so long
Deferd our Break of day, till stung
With Greenland curse? O Why (Mole fashion)
Pore wee on Clods, this dull Creation,
Our glory hid? with whom's inshrin'd
Those long'd for blisses of Man-kind.
Is't for our sins, that righteous Heaven
Hath us this Plague 'mongst others Given,
This Judgment sent (alas) that we
Must lose thy Presence, and want Thee?
Or did wee too prophanely slight
That blessing, meanly rate thy Sight
Enjoy'd? when thou (more justly-nice)
By Want dost please t'inhance thy Price:
An angry Absence must alone
Make thee more reverenc't, and more known.
Or last, was't Charity divine,
Did through our frailties guilt confine
Thee to thy Cells, devouter floar,
T'obtaine our pardon? O, restore
That Face back, fair Example, thus,
Wee shall grow good, lesse criminous.
Rare Beautyes were not made at all
For cloistring, and live-burial,
Though Bats, Owles be; those glorious Seaven,
Th' unwasted Lampes of Earth and Heaven
(Sky-brooches) loe, they were not thrust
To Corners, lodg'd in Rubbish, dust,
But shine to th' World, and traverse by
Sphears blazing Pageants: whilst hid lye
(Earth chested) Gold, Gems wher's their glory?
Sight's all; that magnifies thy story.
Some times 'tis wholsome, purest Mayd,
To ayre thee through the field and shade;
When from some Hill faire-map'd does lye
Small Europe, travel'd by thine Eye;

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And th' amaz'd People gazing round,
As though another Morn were found.
For as through fight thou Physick'st us,
And our dross-spirits refinest thus
To suttle Fire; this Earth Ayre grown,
Pure Quintessentiall, whilst (anon)
Our Blouds dance revels in each veine;
So thou dost Physick thy Selfe againe.
Mayes soveraign, delicious ayre,
'Twill make that Cheeke more snowy-fayr
(If possible) those Brests of spyce,
Thus fan'd, more, Beds of Paradise:
Twil make that Angell-shape to strike
Our eyes with motion Angell-like
Quick, sprightly; improve that daintiest frame
So lively, as if all Soule became;
Then shew thee oft, deare Cordiall; thus
Thou physick'st both thy selfe and us.