Amanda :: :: University of Virginia Library

There 's nought like love that pleaseth me,
Love, love, Amanda, love to thee:
My fancie hath no other theam,
Nor while I wake, nor while I dream;
Not gold, that's made a god by men;
Not gold, which makes men gods agen;
Gold which makes men most sordidly,
To Mules and Asses bend the knee;
Not Honour Glory, or Renown,
To have my name flie up and down:
No title of Worship pleaseth me,
'Tis every Beggars briberie;
I nothing will commit to Fame,
Only my dear Amanda's name;
I only care to live with thee,

To live without thee death 'twill be:
I envie not the Heirs delight,
The hound in's course, the hawke in's flight
Love playes a better game with me,
I alwayes hawke and hunt for thee;
I ne're frequent the bowling green,
In those mad antick postures seen,
Where in their bowles men court and pray,
And curse and swear their time away:
On what designe so e're I go,
Whatever bowle it be I throw,
Amanda's hand doth bias it,
She is the Mistris I would hit:
If with thy voice thou blesse my eare,
May I no other Musick hear;
I'le never drink one drop of wine,
May I but sip those lips of thine;
I'le never go abroad to feast:
Oh that I were thy constant guest!
How gladly would I make on you,
My breakfast and my Beaver too!
On thee i'd alwayes dine and sup,
Oh I could almost eate thee up!
All night on thee might I be fed,
I supperlesse would go to bed:
Thy sweetest flesh if I might taste,
'Fore such a feast who would not fast?
No greater pleasure can I seek,
Then 'tis to kisse thy blushing cheek:
No further joy will I demand,

Then 'tis to touch thy lilie hand;
My heart so lively ne're doth move,
As when I heare thee call me love;
No flowers pleasant are to me,
But roses which do smell of thee:
The primrose and the violet,
Which from thy brest their odours get;
No rich delights can please my eyes,
With all their colour'd rarities;
But those that represent my Faire,
Such as the matchlesse tulips are,
Where Beautie's flourish't flags invite,
I'th' purest streames of red and white.

Here, here, Amanda, take my heart,
There's my soul where e're thou art:
I'le be thy Monarch, thou to me
A Kingdom and a Queen shalt be:
I'le be the Elme, and thou the Vine
About me close shall twist and twine;
And whil'st my Dear like th' Ivie cleaves,
The Oak shall bend to kisse her leaves;
I'le be thy Landlord, and content,
My body be thy tenement;
I'le be thy Landlord, and consent
That thou with kisses pay me rent;
Then shall I kisse thee o're and o're,
And daily raise my rent the more:

'Tis thee, my Dear, I love alone,
No beautie drawes me but thine own;
I ne're shall see, I ne're shall finde

Another so much to my minde;
Should I pick, and chuse, and cull,
Amongst a whole Seraglio full:
There's nought like love that pleaseth me,
Love, love, Amanda, love to thee.