forsworen

Updated: May 1, 2025

My boy, I will instruct thee in a piece of poetry, That haply erst thou hast not heard: in hell there is a tree, Where once a-day do sleep the souls of false forsworen lovers, With open hearts; and there about in swarms the number hovers Of poor forsaken ghosts, whose wings from off this tree do beat Round drops of fiery Phlegethon to scorch false hearts with heat.

Walter W. Greg - Pastoral Poetry and Pastoral Drama: A Literary Inquiry, with Special Reference to the Pre-Restoration: Stage in England