COUNTESS OP WINCHILSEA 297 �A cristal spring, stole through the tufted grasse, Hasting, to reach a fountain, which itt fed, �And murmur'd still, when 'ere itt found a stop. �[She pauses. �Blan. As I shall do, if thou doest not proceed, 80 �What then Carino? �Car. I must be vain, and now describe myself As he, then told me, I appear'd to him. {Aside. �'Twas here, my lord, neer to this fountains side I saw the Maid, the soft, the charming Maid, That seem'd to give the sweetnesse to the place, And in her self, posesst all I've describ'd, The season's youth, and freshnesse of the flow'rs, The harmony of all the tunefull birds, And clearnesse of the Spring, on which she gaz'd. 90 �Blan. 'Tis wond'rous sweet, What doest thou call this Paradice of pleasure? �Car. The Gardens, to the Duke of Mantua's Pallace. �Blan. Ha! tis yett more strange, but hast'n to the rest, For night, I think begins to steal upon us �Car. At my approach, she left her mossy seat, And from her arm, a scarfe, an azure scarfe Fell to the ground, which hastily I seiz'd on, And by that pledge, stopt her intended flight, She stood endeav'ring to regain the favour, 100 �And I, transported, gazing on her charms, Blessing the chance, but what I said I know not; Yett, sure if words are coppy'd from the heart, 'Twas something, that expresst a sweet amaze, A mighty rapture, and a new born passion. My Lord, you seem as if you markt me not, A thoughtfull air, has disposess'd the smiles With which you bid me to repeat my passion. �Blan. Tell me Carino, where thou hadst this story ? �[Rising in disorder ��� �
