Amanda A Sacrifice To an Unknown Goddesse, or, A Free-Will Offering Of a loving Heart to a Sweet-Heart. By N. H. [i.e. Nicholas Hookes] |
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To his most Noble Friend Sir T. L. B. of Shingle hall.
SIR,
That th' only vertue is Nobility,
'Twas spoke in malice, and you'l prov't a lie.
The Author of that sentence, liv'd he now
Would know his wit a scandal, knew he you.
Nay, Sir, that Nobles are the better sort;
Alas! the very times upbraid him for't;
And yet some hope to see our Noblemen
Some such as you confute the times agen;
Though in their wisdomes now they dormant ly,
Hush't in their private mansions quietly;
Had they such Martial souls, such fighting hands,
Redemption of their rights, three [crowns] and lands
Were easie work, and they might bravely get
More honour then a bene latuit,
And th' Art of keeping heads on safe; But I
Intend no plots, although a liberty
Of tongue to speak in this and th' other sense,
Is safer farre then that of conscience;
Yet te'nt allow'd of; but howe're 'tis fit,
That Poets still should have their Quidlibet:
It is their charter, notwithstanding now.
I'le make no use on't; only thus to you.
'Twas spoke in malice, and you'l prov't a lie.
The Author of that sentence, liv'd he now
Would know his wit a scandal, knew he you.
Nay, Sir, that Nobles are the better sort;
Alas! the very times upbraid him for't;
And yet some hope to see our Noblemen
Some such as you confute the times agen;
Though in their wisdomes now they dormant ly,
Hush't in their private mansions quietly;
Had they such Martial souls, such fighting hands,
Redemption of their rights, three [crowns] and lands
Were easie work, and they might bravely get
More honour then a bene latuit,
And th' Art of keeping heads on safe; But I
Intend no plots, although a liberty
Of tongue to speak in this and th' other sense,
Is safer farre then that of conscience;
Yet te'nt allow'd of; but howe're 'tis fit,
That Poets still should have their Quidlibet:
It is their charter, notwithstanding now.
I'le make no use on't; only thus to you.
Sir, in each cast of your commanding eye,
Such reverend imperious glances flie,
Such royal stately looks, so sweet a grace
Of presence, that when now there is no face
Of Monarch in the land, amongst so many
Kings of the times, if 'twill agree to any;
Better I cannot make the Court-salute,
Then with your stature and your greatnesse suit
(Setting all Steeples and all Fat-guts by)
If't please your Highnesse or your Majestie:
Such a well-timber'd man, of such a height,
And yet your years be hardly ten and eight!
What ever Nature's second thoughts might be,
Her first allowance was for Gemini.
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Such royal stately looks, so sweet a grace
Of presence, that when now there is no face
Of Monarch in the land, amongst so many
Kings of the times, if 'twill agree to any;
Better I cannot make the Court-salute,
Then with your stature and your greatnesse suit
(Setting all Steeples and all Fat-guts by)
If't please your Highnesse or your Majestie:
Such a well-timber'd man, of such a height,
And yet your years be hardly ten and eight!
What ever Nature's second thoughts might be,
Her first allowance was for Gemini.
Sir, there's such mixture in your countenance
Of Mars and Cupid, such a ridling glance,
We doubt what in your eyes those sparklings move;
Or warlike lightnings or the flames of love?
Sometimes I've seen you (like Prince Paris stand
Ready to kisse his Helens lilie-hand)
All smiles, and then again me thinks I see
Within your face a whole Artillerie:
Thus looks a bold advent'rous AmaZon,
A Lady with Knight-Errant's armour on:
Sure that Greek Cavalier look't something like
To you, who 'mongst the Spinsters tost a pike,
Which you may be, I doubt, and pause upon't,
A young Achilles or a Bradamant;
Would any see Venus and Mars embrace,
They meet, and mingle loves upon your face;
By which I mean there's to be seen in you,
Sir Thomas Leventhorp, and Madam too;
Minos was such a Gallant sure, had you been there,
Nisus had sooner lost his purple haire,
(Sylla as love-sick, and as mad to wed)
You'd had a Kingdome and a Maiden-head;
Of all the beauties which in women shine,
Your Nature's ward-robe, but yet masculine.
Of Mars and Cupid, such a ridling glance,
We doubt what in your eyes those sparklings move;
Or warlike lightnings or the flames of love?
Sometimes I've seen you (like Prince Paris stand
Ready to kisse his Helens lilie-hand)
All smiles, and then again me thinks I see
Within your face a whole Artillerie:
Thus looks a bold advent'rous AmaZon,
A Lady with Knight-Errant's armour on:
Sure that Greek Cavalier look't something like
To you, who 'mongst the Spinsters tost a pike,
Which you may be, I doubt, and pause upon't,
A young Achilles or a Bradamant;
Would any see Venus and Mars embrace,
They meet, and mingle loves upon your face;
By which I mean there's to be seen in you,
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Minos was such a Gallant sure, had you been there,
Nisus had sooner lost his purple haire,
(Sylla as love-sick, and as mad to wed)
You'd had a Kingdome and a Maiden-head;
Of all the beauties which in women shine,
Your Nature's ward-robe, but yet masculine.
Sir, in all this, I must commend with you;
Your well-belov'd, the Princely Mountague.
Your well-belov'd, the Princely Mountague.
To Mr. LILLY, Musick-Master in Cambridge.
Sir
, I have seen your scip-jack fingers flie,
As if their motion taugh't Ubiquitie:
I've seen the trembling Cat'lin's smart and brisk
Start from the frets, dance, leap, and nimbly frisk
In palsie capers, pratling (a most sweet
Language of Notes) Curranto's as they meet:
I've heard each string speak in so short a space
As if all spoke at once; with stately grace
The surley tenour grumble at your touch,
And th' ticklish-maiden treble laugh as much,
Which (if your bowe-hand whip it wantonly,)
Most pertly chirps and jabbers merrily;
Like frolick Nightingals, whose narrow throats
Such Musick in and out, and gargle notes;
Each strain makes smooth, and curles the air agen,
Like currents suck't by narrow whirlepits in;
Sometimes they murmur like the shallow springs,
Whose hastie streams forc't into Crystal rings,
And check't by pebbles, pretty Musick make
In kisses and such language as they speak,
'Tis soft and easie, Heaven can't out-do't,
That under Fairie-ground is nothing to't:
Who e're that earthly mortal Cherub be,
Whose well-tun'd soul delights in melodie:
He ventures hard, if for an houre he dares
To your surprizing straines apply his eares,
We finde such Magick in your Harmony,
As if to hear you were to hear and die.
As if their motion taugh't Ubiquitie:
I've seen the trembling Cat'lin's smart and brisk
Start from the frets, dance, leap, and nimbly frisk
In palsie capers, pratling (a most sweet
Language of Notes) Curranto's as they meet:
I've heard each string speak in so short a space
As if all spoke at once; with stately grace
The surley tenour grumble at your touch,
And th' ticklish-maiden treble laugh as much,
Which (if your bowe-hand whip it wantonly,)
Most pertly chirps and jabbers merrily;
Like frolick Nightingals, whose narrow throats
Such Musick in and out, and gargle notes;
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Like currents suck't by narrow whirlepits in;
Sometimes they murmur like the shallow springs,
Whose hastie streams forc't into Crystal rings,
And check't by pebbles, pretty Musick make
In kisses and such language as they speak,
'Tis soft and easie, Heaven can't out-do't,
That under Fairie-ground is nothing to't:
Who e're that earthly mortal Cherub be,
Whose well-tun'd soul delights in melodie:
He ventures hard, if for an houre he dares
To your surprizing straines apply his eares,
We finde such Magick in your Harmony,
As if to hear you were to hear and die.
Were you a Batchelour, and bold to trie
Fortunes, what Lady's she, though ne're so high
And rich by birth, should see the tickling sport
Your finger makes, and would not have you for't;
Beyond those Saints who speak ex tempore,
Your well-spoke viol scornes tautologie;
And I in truth had rather hear you teach
O'th' Lyra, then the rarest tub-man preach:
In's holy speeches he may strike my eares
With more of Heav'n; you with more o'th' spheres,
Fortunes, what Lady's she, though ne're so high
And rich by birth, should see the tickling sport
Your finger makes, and would not have you for't;
Beyond those Saints who speak ex tempore,
Your well-spoke viol scornes tautologie;
And I in truth had rather hear you teach
O'th' Lyra, then the rarest tub-man preach:
In's holy speeches he may strike my eares
With more of Heav'n; you with more o'th' spheres,
I've heard your base mumble and mutter too,
Made angry with your cholerick hand, while you
With hastie jirks to vex and anger't more
Correct its stubbornnesse and lash it o're:
I've heard you pawse, and dwell upon an aire,
(Then make't i'th' end (as loft to part it were)
Languish and melt away so leasurely,)
As if 'twere pity that its Eccho die;
Then snatch up notes, as if your viol broke,
And in the breaking every splinter spoke:
I've seen your active hands vault to and fro,
This to give grace, that to command your bowe;
As if your fingers and your instrument
By conspiration made you eminent.
Made angry with your cholerick hand, while you
With hastie jirks to vex and anger't more
Correct its stubbornnesse and lash it o're:
I've heard you pawse, and dwell upon an aire,
(Then make't i'th' end (as loft to part it were)
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As if 'twere pity that its Eccho die;
Then snatch up notes, as if your viol broke,
And in the breaking every splinter spoke:
I've seen your active hands vault to and fro,
This to give grace, that to command your bowe;
As if your fingers and your instrument
By conspiration made you eminent.
We have good Musick and Musicians here,
If not the best, as good as any where:
A brave old Irish Harper, and you know
English or French way few or none out-go
Our Lutanists; the Lusemores too I think
For Organists, the Sack-buts breath may stink,
And yet old Brownes be sweet, o'th' Violin
Saunders plays well, where Magge or Mel han't been.
Then on his Cornet brave thanksgiving Mun,
Playes on Rings Chappel after Sermon's done:
At those loud blasts, though he's out-gone by none,
Yet Cambridge glories in your self alone:
No more but thus, he that heares only you,
Heares Lillie play, and Doctor Coleman too.
If not the best, as good as any where:
A brave old Irish Harper, and you know
English or French way few or none out-go
Our Lutanists; the Lusemores too I think
For Organists, the Sack-buts breath may stink,
And yet old Brownes be sweet, o'th' Violin
Saunders plays well, where Magge or Mel han't been.
Then on his Cornet brave thanksgiving Mun,
Playes on Rings Chappel after Sermon's done:
At those loud blasts, though he's out-gone by none,
Yet Cambridge glories in your self alone:
No more but thus, he that heares only you,
Heares Lillie play, and Doctor Coleman too.
You in the swiftnesse of your hand excel
All others, my Amanda sings as well,
No Musick like to hers; I wish in troth,
That we with her might play in Consort both;
Might I my self, and you my friend prefer,
You with her voice should play, and I with her.
All others, my Amanda sings as well,
No Musick like to hers; I wish in troth,
That we with her might play in Consort both;
Might I my self, and you my friend prefer,
You with her voice should play, and I with her.
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A Passion.
1
Solicit not my chaster eyes,With those faire breasts that fall and rise,
I'le not lie betwixt those dugs
Where Cupid nestles, sleeps and snugs;
There is no goddesse I adore,
To fight with those that call her whore:
Thou shalt not surfeit in thy pride,
By me so falsely deifi'd.
No, hang a Mistris, I le ha' none,
No such toy to dote upon.
2
Beauties faring, Loves conceit,“Though her face be eighty-eight;
Called faithful, constant, faire,
Though Vaux i'th' dark plot treason there;
The Phenix too must build his nest,
I'th' blest Arabia of her breast;
Without her little dog though she
Or musk or civet dare not be.
Fie, fie, a Mistris I'le ha' none,
No such toy to doat upon.
3
I'le be no Merchant; nor saile nigh,Those tempting India's of thy thigh;
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And wrack my fancie for a kisse;
Fool to your laughing Ladyship,
To get a smile, or touch your lip;
Protest with oathes high and mighty,
That your spittle is aqua vitæ.
No, hang a Mistris, &c.
4
Amongst the gallants swear and rant,And of your kindnesse boast and vant;
Then drink diseases down, and wave
All thoughts of sicknesse or the grave,
Pledge your health, and pledge it stoutly,
Pray o're my cups, and drink devoutly;
Increase the Feaver of my lust,
And never dream I am but dust.
Oh hang a Mistris, &c.
5
Then vault and do some tumblers knackThat speaks me man, and shewes my back;
Run in debt and pawne my goods,
To buy you fancies, gloves and hoods;
Then if the catch-pole chance to hale
And drag me to the loathsome goal;
There may your servant die and rot,
You never send, you see him not.
Shame on't, a Mistris, &c.
6
At least I shall be curst in this,Your love, your beauty common is,
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Murther, or else renounce my love;
Or late at night must walk the street,
Where ten to one some rogues I meet,
Only to watch till one o'th' clock
I'th' cold to see you in your smock;
And nothing do
But look at you
And through the key-hole too.
Oh hang a Mistris, I'le ha' none
No such toy to doat upon.
All that faire and am'rous be,
Are Mistresses alike to me;
I'm in love with every one,
No, hang't, in love with none.
Amanda prethy pardon me,
In love with none, with none but thee.
To Amanda mistrusting her love.
If any Stranger but appear,Thy jealous Lover straight begins to feare;
If any letters come to thee,
Suspicion swiftly doth come post to me;
In private if thou reade them o're,
I read 'tis love, and still suspect the more;
If after this thou chance to frown,
Despair brings night on, and my Sunne goes down;
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A fearful palsie shakes my trembling heart;
But should'st thou bid me once abstain,
My breath would go, and ne'er return again:
To rid me of these killing doubts,
Would I could see thee once make Babie-clouts.
To Amanda, on her picture drawn with a Lute in her hand
A sweet faire draught, yet not compleatly true,
No, it must paint agen to be like you;
Niggardly Art must be at greater cost,
Else your complexion is in colours lost;
A neat resemblance, yet who e're did do't,
Envi'd my eye, and drew a curtain to't;
A whimsie limner strange, what meant the toy,
Not like your selfe to make your picture coy!
Oh it was providence, thoughts of a wife,
Had kill'd me there, had you been drawn to th' life;
But Fairest; that's beyond our modern powers,
Apelles hand ought to be seen in yours,
And Art must to that work a pupil show,
Durst cut a line with skilful Angelo;
Yet in the cast o' th' eye would like't you'd be,
And then where e're I stand, you'd look on me;
It was my chance to see't by candle-light,
Had you been there I could have stay'd all night;
I kist those hands, no lesse nor more could do,
But yet my fancie kist the substance too.
Me thoughts my lips did some impressions make,
The awful Cat'line seem'd to tremble and shake:
Had you been there to play as I did wis,
I'd have kept time with an observant kisse;
A sweeter Lute for you would I prepare,
In tune you should have found my heart-strings were;
So mingling aires and lips till break of day,
We would a sweet chaste ravishing Consort play
Without a discord, only this I'd do,
I'd keep false time, false time in kissing you.
No, it must paint agen to be like you;
Niggardly Art must be at greater cost,
Else your complexion is in colours lost;
A neat resemblance, yet who e're did do't,
Envi'd my eye, and drew a curtain to't;
A whimsie limner strange, what meant the toy,
Not like your selfe to make your picture coy!
Oh it was providence, thoughts of a wife,
Had kill'd me there, had you been drawn to th' life;
But Fairest; that's beyond our modern powers,
Apelles hand ought to be seen in yours,
And Art must to that work a pupil show,
Durst cut a line with skilful Angelo;
Yet in the cast o' th' eye would like't you'd be,
And then where e're I stand, you'd look on me;
It was my chance to see't by candle-light,
Had you been there I could have stay'd all night;
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But yet my fancie kist the substance too.
Me thoughts my lips did some impressions make,
The awful Cat'line seem'd to tremble and shake:
Had you been there to play as I did wis,
I'd have kept time with an observant kisse;
A sweeter Lute for you would I prepare,
In tune you should have found my heart-strings were;
So mingling aires and lips till break of day,
We would a sweet chaste ravishing Consort play
Without a discord, only this I'd do,
I'd keep false time, false time in kissing you.
Oh Fairest, that thou were't but drawn on me,
Then blest should I thy happy picture be;
I stretch my armes out, and still wish the same,
Oh that you were but hanging on this frame;
Then for your beauties sake, straight should I be,
Hang'd in some princely Monarchs gallery;
Nor would I care could I but often see,
You come, and kindly look and smile on me.
Then would I draw y' agen upon my heart,
And be loves masterpiece of Love and Art.
Then blest should I thy happy picture be;
I stretch my armes out, and still wish the same,
Oh that you were but hanging on this frame;
Then for your beauties sake, straight should I be,
Hang'd in some princely Monarchs gallery;
Nor would I care could I but often see,
You come, and kindly look and smile on me.
Then would I draw y' agen upon my heart,
And be loves masterpiece of Love and Art.
A Dream.
As in the perfum'd garden yesterday,Amongst the primrose fast asleep I lay,
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By love and fancie on an errand sent.
In at Amanda's private chamber door
She made her flight, and view'd her o're and o're.
The more she look't, the more she lik't, and fain
She would have staid, and ne'er return'd again;
First on her cherrie lip she plaid, and then
On her faire cheek, so to her lip agen;
Where having suck't till she was fill'd with love,
She drop't into her downie breast; the next remove
Was to the chamber of her heart, to see
If she could take possession there for me;
When in she came, there pretty Cupid sat
In state, and laugh't at her, she glad of that
Kindly embrac't and kist the smiling boy,
And whil'st they kist, my Sweet-heart leap't for joy;
Then could my jocant soul no longer stay,
But straight to bring the newes came post away:
Her flight was swift, and with her lovingly
She brought along, [most willing companie]
Amanda's soul, so loth to part they were;
The best on't is, she left a Cupid there.
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To Amanda on her dimples.
When e're I let my meditations flie,And give them wings to take their libertie,
Like the neat Cyprian bird, the cleanly Dove,
Which no fowl sloven stenement doth love,
But a faire stately house and nere forsakes
The pleasant fabrick to which once it takes,
So my thoughts flie, (from whence they ne're will part)
So th' comely mansion of a candid heart;
Each winged thought to thee, Amanda, flies,
And under th' crystal windowes of thine eyes
Lights on thy damask cheeks, where they do play,
The wooing turtles winding every way,
Till by young Cupids craft they're taken in,
Love's dimpled pitfalls of thy cheeks and chin,
Three nests of new-flown smiles on roses near,
To which a thousand unflegg'd Angels are,
Chirping pin-feather'd, pirking Cherubs sit,
Sweet blushing Babes playing at cherrie-pit,
Some win and smile, some lose their cherries, then
Down to thy lips, and gather fresh agen,
Sweet kissing lips, which all the Winter shew
The ripest cherries, and their blossomes too,
When e're thou weep'st, each Grace doth snatch a tear,
And fill a dimple with't, then wash her there,
That pimping Cupids come, to cool their wings,
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A liquid crystal pearle, whose parts in love
Unto each other as a centre move,
So it remaines a gemme (though moist and wet)
Whose superficies is its Cabinet,
And loth to break it is, till hastily
An Infant having snatch't it from thine eye,
Flies to a pleasant dimple, and within't
Dissolve the Jewel, and so bath him in't,
Baths in a dimple, which of rosebuds smells,
Thine eyne and cheeks the Graces Bath and Wells.
On Amanda's black eye-browes.
Near to an eye that sparkles so,'Tis strange so dark an hair should grow
Upon a skin so white and faire,
'Tis strange there is so black an hair,
At first 'cause it so near doth lie,
I guest 'twas Sunne-burnt with thine eye,
But then I thought if so it were,
'Twould melt the snow which lies as near,
And scorch and make those lilies die,
Upon the shuttings of thine eye,
And those fresh roses to which grow,
Upon thy sweeter cheeks below.
Then I conceiv'd that there might be,
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That Venus for Adonis sake,
Commanded nature there to make.
(A pretty strange conceited thing)
Two arches of a mourning ring.
Thence 'tis that those black haires do grow,
Thence are thy browes enamel'd so.
Good wishes to Amanda.
1
May my Amanda live,And live in health,
May no desease, no crosse,
No sudden losse,
Nor want of wealth,
No angry push, no pain nor smart,
Afflict or grieve,
Her tender melting heart.
2
May th' Heavens and the earthConspire her mirth,
By Io I conjure thee Jove,
May all that's good
Club her delight,
May Cupid give her all the sweets of love,
And kindly in the coolest night
Most chastely warm her blood.
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3
Ne'er may she wipe a teare,From her bright eye,
Ne'er may she sigh or weare,
A mourning vale,
In black, look pale,
Till in her cheeks those fresher roses die,
And where they blush it so,
Nothing but gastly lilies grow.
4
Ne'er may she scowl or frown,Or chafe or fret.
Ne'er may she meet a Clown,
That smells of sweat,
By him be kist
Ne'er may the bristles of a bumpkin's chin,
Or th' gripes o's callow fist,
Injure her softer sweeter skin.
5
Ne'er may my Dearest die,A sudden death
Nor on her death-bed lie,
Gasping for breath,
Whilst all about
Her friends drop teares.
But like a brighter lamp i'th' end,
May she burn clear and spend,
Her store of oyle, and so go out.
6
Ne'er may her slender wrist,69
Nor rudely wrung too hard;
May her faire hand,
Be luckie still;
At what e're game she playes, may she command
The surest winning card,
And never may she want her will.
7
Amongst great Madams whatsoe're,My faire appear,
Ne'er may she want an eye,
T' admire and gaze,
Nor tongue to praise
Her rare well-featur'd physnomie,
Still may she called be
The sweetest and the fairest she.
8
And if the greatest JoveShall blesse me so,
So as to make her mine,
And she shall know
No other love,
All the night long upon her slumbring eyne,
May Cupids lodge in swarmes,
Ne'er may she startle from mine armes.
9
But if I can't be thoughtWorthy that love,
For which so long I've sought,
For which I've strove,
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When I am gone and lost, oh may she finde
A heart as kinde,
That knowes to love as well as I.
Amanda's Beautie preferr'd.
Of noted pearlesse beauties I shall tell,
Yet leave Amanda without parallel,
From thy bright eyes I have receiv'd a wound,
Deeper then Henry from his Rosamond,
I'le be thy Knight and Vaughans office do,
I'le bo thy Labyrinth and Keeper too
Yet leave Amanda without parallel,
From thy bright eyes I have receiv'd a wound,
Deeper then Henry from his Rosamond,
I'le be thy Knight and Vaughans office do,
I'le bo thy Labyrinth and Keeper too
As thou art fairer then French Isabel,
So in thy breast farre greater comforts dwell;
Thy love can me to richer joyes prefer,
Then, e're she did her lovely Mortimer:
Had'st thou been living when that famous Lasse
Fitz-waters daughter so admired was,
Sweetest Matilda when to Dunmow gone,
Had ne'er been courted by the Princely John;
If my Amanda e're shall be a Nun,
Oh Heavens may she be a wedded one,
I'le answer all her Vowes of chastity,
I'le be her constant Monk and Monastry,
I'le be the careful Abbot, she shall be
My pretty Abbesse and my Nunnerie,
What though the Nunn'rie fall, we'l love, and then
Replenish with young Monks and Nunns agen;
So in thy breast farre greater comforts dwell;
Thy love can me to richer joyes prefer,
Then, e're she did her lovely Mortimer:
Had'st thou been living when that famous Lasse
Fitz-waters daughter so admired was,
Sweetest Matilda when to Dunmow gone,
Had ne'er been courted by the Princely John;
If my Amanda e're shall be a Nun,
Oh Heavens may she be a wedded one,
I'le answer all her Vowes of chastity,
I'le be her constant Monk and Monastry,
I'le be the careful Abbot, she shall be
My pretty Abbesse and my Nunnerie,
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Replenish with young Monks and Nunns agen;
Because thy beautie is of greater power,
Then that of Alice walking on the tower,
Storm'd by all features in their excellence,
Edward the black (that stout victorious Prince,)
With lesse disdain might have been check't by thee,
Then by the Lady of Count Sal'sburie,
Then that of Alice walking on the tower,
Storm'd by all features in their excellence,
Edward the black (that stout victorious Prince,)
With lesse disdain might have been check't by thee,
Then by the Lady of Count Sal'sburie,
If Owen Tudor prais'd his Madams hue,
'Cause in her cheeks the rose and lilie grew,
Thou'rt more praise-worthy then was Katherine,
There's fresher York and Lancaster in thine:
'Cause in her cheeks the rose and lilie grew,
Thou'rt more praise-worthy then was Katherine,
There's fresher York and Lancaster in thine:
Had thy sweet features with thy beauty met
In William do-la-pool's faire Margaret,
The Peers surpriz'd had never giv'n consent,
For th' Duke of Suffolks five years banishment,
For the Exchange of Mauns, Anjou and Main,
T' have giv'n a Kingdom for thee had been gain:
In William do-la-pool's faire Margaret,
The Peers surpriz'd had never giv'n consent,
For th' Duke of Suffolks five years banishment,
For the Exchange of Mauns, Anjou and Main,
T' have giv'n a Kingdom for thee had been gain:
What King would not his Crown and Scepter pawne,
To purchase lilies, and the whitest lawne,
From thy pure hands, jems from thy sparkling eyes,
Thy rubie lips, and such rich rarities?
Who would not leave a throne one night to lie
Upon the sweet bags of thy Rosarie?
To purchase lilies, and the whitest lawne,
From thy pure hands, jems from thy sparkling eyes,
Thy rubie lips, and such rich rarities?
Who would not leave a throne one night to lie
Upon the sweet bags of thy Rosarie?
Most princely Virgin, had'st thou lived, when
The goddesse Beautie was ador'd by men;
Edward would have preferr'd thee farre before,
The Goldsmiths Jewel, famous Missresse Shore,
Had he but seen thy face, and heard thy wit,
To thee that King his sugred lines had writ,
The great Controwler Love had made thee be,
Great Lady Governesse to's Majestie:
For who Amanda would not put off state,
And lose a Heav'n with thee t'inoculate?
Who would not forfeit all his libertie,
Lock't up and folded in thine armes to be?
The goddesse Beautie was ador'd by men;
Edward would have preferr'd thee farre before,
The Goldsmiths Jewel, famous Missresse Shore,
Had he but seen thy face, and heard thy wit,
72
The great Controwler Love had made thee be,
Great Lady Governesse to's Majestie:
For who Amanda would not put off state,
And lose a Heav'n with thee t'inoculate?
Who would not forfeit all his libertie,
Lock't up and folded in thine armes to be?
Were I a Sultan or an Emperour,
Thus would I write to thee my Paramour.
“Oft go my robes and these gold chaines of mine,
“To twist my legs with those soft legs of thine;
“I'le be no longer Prince, may I but be,
“Squire o'th' body to so faire a she;
“I'le lose my honour and my royal throne,
“And think I have them all in thee alone;
“I who am worship't with a bended knee,
“Will be thy servant, and bend mine to thee;
“Off goes my Crown, I'le be no King of men,
“That Princely name I'le ne'er put on agen;
“Till thou into thine armes when I am hurld,
“Shalt make me King of thy sweet lesser world;
“No kingly pleasure like to loves delight,
“Thy kisse shall crown me, I'le be crown'd all night;
“And when the pleasant night is past away,
“Then shall succeed my Coronation day;
“Wee'l spend our time in love's sweet merriments,
“In stately tiltings, justs and tournaments;
“Like the stout Brandon in the Court of France.
“His loved Mary's honour to advance;
“Had he then took (thou brightest Queen of light
“Thy name his signal when he 'gan to fight,
“Without chastisements from his piercing steel,
“The Giant Almain had been forc't to kneel;
Thus would I write to thee my Paramour.
“Oft go my robes and these gold chaines of mine,
“To twist my legs with those soft legs of thine;
“I'le be no longer Prince, may I but be,
“Squire o'th' body to so faire a she;
“I'le lose my honour and my royal throne,
“And think I have them all in thee alone;
“I who am worship't with a bended knee,
“Will be thy servant, and bend mine to thee;
“Off goes my Crown, I'le be no King of men,
“That Princely name I'le ne'er put on agen;
“Till thou into thine armes when I am hurld,
“Shalt make me King of thy sweet lesser world;
“No kingly pleasure like to loves delight,
“Thy kisse shall crown me, I'le be crown'd all night;
“And when the pleasant night is past away,
“Then shall succeed my Coronation day;
“Wee'l spend our time in love's sweet merriments,
“In stately tiltings, justs and tournaments;
“Like the stout Brandon in the Court of France.
“His loved Mary's honour to advance;
“Had he then took (thou brightest Queen of light
73
“Without chastisements from his piercing steel,
“The Giant Almain had been forc't to kneel;
“Were Surrey travel'd now to Tuskanie,
“Off'ring to reach his gauntlet out for thee;
“If on the guilt tree in the List he set,
“Thy pretty lovely, pretty counterfeit,
“All Planet-struck with those two stars, thy eyne,
“(Outshining farre, his heav'nly Geraldine;)
“There would no staffe be shiver'd, none would dare,
“A beautie with Amanda's to compare:
“Off'ring to reach his gauntlet out for thee;
“If on the guilt tree in the List he set,
“Thy pretty lovely, pretty counterfeit,
“All Planet-struck with those two stars, thy eyne,
“(Outshining farre, his heav'nly Geraldine;)
“There would no staffe be shiver'd, none would dare,
“A beautie with Amanda's to compare:
“All those faire Ladies which we Beauties call,
“Are Mauritanians, and not faire at all,
“The proudest Madam, and the brightest she,
“Is but a Gypsie, if compar'd with thee,
“And all those Princely faire ones that live nigh,
“Are tawnie, tann'd and sun-burnt with thine eye;
“Off goes my robe, and these gold chains of mine,
“To twist my legs with those soft legs of thine.
“Are Mauritanians, and not faire at all,
“The proudest Madam, and the brightest she,
“Is but a Gypsie, if compar'd with thee,
“And all those Princely faire ones that live nigh,
“Are tawnie, tann'd and sun-burnt with thine eye;
“Off goes my robe, and these gold chains of mine,
“To twist my legs with those soft legs of thine.
Thou art so faire, that in a Sun-shine day,
When Phœbus beams are darted ev'ry way,
If thou walk out with thy encountring eyes,
Sweet Daphne fills me with strange jealousies,
Should thy chaste body turn t' a Lawrel tree,
Oh may my browes be e're impal'd with thee;
If I'm a Poet thou hast made me so;
Then if thy armes to Lawrel branches grow,
'Tis fit in justice, and in love thou twine,
Those leavie armes about this head of mine.
When Phœbus beams are darted ev'ry way,
If thou walk out with thy encountring eyes,
Sweet Daphne fills me with strange jealousies,
Should thy chaste body turn t' a Lawrel tree,
Oh may my browes be e're impal'd with thee;
If I'm a Poet thou hast made me so;
Then if thy armes to Lawrel branches grow,
'Tis fit in justice, and in love thou twine,
Those leavie armes about this head of mine.
In the green pastures, if thou walk about,
Where crooked crystal streams flow in and out,
If Jove should change thee as his Inach is,
Streight would I wish my metempsycosis;
A female shape my loving soul should take,
So would I be a Milkmaid for thy sake;
My lips should milk thee, and thy milk should be
Suck possets, and sweet Syllibubs to me;
Into a Cow by Jove wert thou bettaid,
I'd stroke thy tetts, and be thy darie-maid;
The god must needs change me in changing you,
If thou wert Iò I'd be Argus too.
74
If Jove should change thee as his Inach is,
Streight would I wish my metempsycosis;
A female shape my loving soul should take,
So would I be a Milkmaid for thy sake;
My lips should milk thee, and thy milk should be
Suck possets, and sweet Syllibubs to me;
Into a Cow by Jove wert thou bettaid,
I'd stroke thy tetts, and be thy darie-maid;
The god must needs change me in changing you,
If thou wert Iò I'd be Argus too.
Within the wood, when thou walk'st here and there,
The chaste Calisto's storie makes me fear;
Up to the Sun if thou but lift thy eyes,
I'd read the peevish Clytie's jeaiousies;
Thinking thou may'st by Phœbus be preferr'd,
I think on her who was alive interr'd,
Interr'd alive should'st thou (my Dearest) be,
For Phæbus sake, as was Lencothoe;
Surely the mournful Sunne to solemnize
His fairest well-beloveds obsequies;
Would weep upon thy grave, (to sprinkle thee)
Showres of Nectar to eternity;
Stil'd from thy Corps then would arise from thence
Nothing but perfumes and sweet frankincense;
From thy dew'd grave still there would flow agen,
Odours and incense for the gods of men.
The chaste Calisto's storie makes me fear;
Up to the Sun if thou but lift thy eyes,
I'd read the peevish Clytie's jeaiousies;
Thinking thou may'st by Phœbus be preferr'd,
I think on her who was alive interr'd,
Interr'd alive should'st thou (my Dearest) be,
For Phæbus sake, as was Lencothoe;
Surely the mournful Sunne to solemnize
His fairest well-beloveds obsequies;
Would weep upon thy grave, (to sprinkle thee)
Showres of Nectar to eternity;
Stil'd from thy Corps then would arise from thence
Nothing but perfumes and sweet frankincense;
From thy dew'd grave still there would flow agen,
Odours and incense for the gods of men.
When e're I see the kindled fire flame,
I think how Jove unto Ægina came;
Though I am not so hot a flame as Jove,
His flame was fire, mine's the flame of love;
And if good lawes shall stand in force with us,
We will beget the world an Æacn:
I think how Jove unto Ægina came;
Though I am not so hot a flame as Jove,
75
And if good lawes shall stand in force with us,
We will beget the world an Æacn:
I feare all shapes what e're appear to me,
Least in't some god be come to ravish thee;
It was a Bull that took Europa up,
Bright Theophane makes me dread the tup;
The shepheard mindes me of Mnemosyne.
The Eagle, Astria makes me think on thee,
Still I suspect when e're from thee I go,
Some rival counterfeit Amphitrio,
For Læda's sake I hate the lovely Swan,
I hate not only animals but man.
Nay when I drink a Cup of wine to thee,
I think how Bacchus took Erigone.
Least in't some god be come to ravish thee;
It was a Bull that took Europa up,
Bright Theophane makes me dread the tup;
The shepheard mindes me of Mnemosyne.
The Eagle, Astria makes me think on thee,
Still I suspect when e're from thee I go,
Some rival counterfeit Amphitrio,
For Læda's sake I hate the lovely Swan,
I hate not only animals but man.
Nay when I drink a Cup of wine to thee,
I think how Bacchus took Erigone.
Should'st thou be crusted up like Niobe,
And turn'd to marble like the Parian she,
In Guido's Temple hugg'd by th' noble boy,)
Thou couldst not lover want, nor they love's joy;
For should'st thou die, and o're thy grave have set,
Thy heavenly featur'd carved counterfeit;
Hard by thy tomb I'd stand immoveably,
And on thy image ever fix my eye,
As if both eyes (too narrow flood gates kept
The moisture back, and I too slowly wept;
Like marble I'd sweat, each pore should drop a tear,
Tear after tear, till dry as dust I were;
Then should my body into ashes fall,
Black ashes, mourners for thy Funeral;
Sweet Cupid, Sexton to this dust of mine,
Should throw in dust to dust, my dust to thine;
And turn'd to marble like the Parian she,
In Guido's Temple hugg'd by th' noble boy,)
Thou couldst not lover want, nor they love's joy;
For should'st thou die, and o're thy grave have set,
Thy heavenly featur'd carved counterfeit;
Hard by thy tomb I'd stand immoveably,
And on thy image ever fix my eye,
As if both eyes (too narrow flood gates kept
The moisture back, and I too slowly wept;
Like marble I'd sweat, each pore should drop a tear,
Tear after tear, till dry as dust I were;
Then should my body into ashes fall,
Black ashes, mourners for thy Funeral;
Sweet Cupid, Sexton to this dust of mine,
76
Should'st thou not love me whil'st thou livest here,
But give thy heart to some one other where,
If thou t' Elysium 'fore thy servant went,
I'd make thy very Statue penitent,
So strange a mourner for thy death I'd be.
Thy tombe or ghost should fall in love with me,
But give thy heart to some one other where,
If thou t' Elysium 'fore thy servant went,
I'd make thy very Statue penitent,
So strange a mourner for thy death I'd be.
Thy tombe or ghost should fall in love with me,
Wert thou to passe over Cocytus ferrie
In that old Sculler, Grandsire Charons wherrie,
The wrizled gray-beard for his hapennie
Would lick his lips, and ask a kisse of thee;
On those black lakes should'st thou but drop a tear,
Styx and Cocytus would run crystal clear;
The Cells of darknesse shouldst thou go to view,
The scorched souls would 'gin their Barichu;
If with one kiss great Iove thou would'st but please,
Ixion's ransom'd and the Bellides;
Heaven would readmit poor Tantalus,
And grant reprieve to th' Pirate Sisyphus:
For one sweet smile from thy pure lip can quell
The wrath of furies, and redeem half hell;
In that old Sculler, Grandsire Charons wherrie,
The wrizled gray-beard for his hapennie
Would lick his lips, and ask a kisse of thee;
On those black lakes should'st thou but drop a tear,
Styx and Cocytus would run crystal clear;
The Cells of darknesse shouldst thou go to view,
The scorched souls would 'gin their Barichu;
If with one kiss great Iove thou would'st but please,
Ixion's ransom'd and the Bellides;
Heaven would readmit poor Tantalus,
And grant reprieve to th' Pirate Sisyphus:
For one sweet smile from thy pure lip can quell
The wrath of furies, and redeem half hell;
Oh my Amanda thou'rt so rare a she,
There's none hath features to compare with thee,
Should the age present, and the ages past
Club for a beautie, they'l come short at last;
I'le name no Helen snatch't by old Priam's boy,
For whom a ten yeares siedge was laid at Troy,
With so great slaughter both of horse and men;
Those we count trulls would have been handsome then:
There's none hath features to compare with thee,
Should the age present, and the ages past
Club for a beautie, they'l come short at last;
I'le name no Helen snatch't by old Priam's boy,
For whom a ten yeares siedge was laid at Troy,
With so great slaughter both of horse and men;
Those we count trulls would have been handsome then:
77
I'le name no Hero, for the stars have blest us,
With better beauties then that starre of Sestus;
Holland's Diana, and another Moon,
The faire Philippa, like the Sunne at noon.
A heavenly daughter of Northumberland's,
Young Capell's glory, and the Lady Sands,
That blithe smooth Madam; had I thee alone
Amanda, I'd enjoy these all in one;
Thou art a matchlesse peerlesse Paragon,
One that an Angel might well doat upon;
With better beauties then that starre of Sestus;
Holland's Diana, and another Moon,
The faire Philippa, like the Sunne at noon.
A heavenly daughter of Northumberland's,
Young Capell's glory, and the Lady Sands,
That blithe smooth Madam; had I thee alone
Amanda, I'd enjoy these all in one;
Thou art a matchlesse peerlesse Paragon,
One that an Angel might well doat upon;
Had that comparison bin made by thee,
Which once was made by proud Cassiope,
Those water Fairies the Neriades.
Sending no horrid Monster from the seas,
To eate up beasts, and men; would proudly tell,
That thy sweet Beautie was their paralell;
Or to a rock suppose thou chained were,
To be devoured by a Monster there,
As was the heav'nly faire Andromeda,
The rock would moulder or else melt away:
With thy sweet self, as deeply fall'n in love;
Each Angel would thy Guardian Perseus prove:
With lesse presumption then Antigone,
Heaven's proud Juno can't compare with thee;
No, my Amanda, for I dare prefer,
Thee 'fore the stately Queen o'th' Thunderer,
Fore her and comely Venus both together,
Though Iove bring bolts, and Mars his gauntlet hither.
Which once was made by proud Cassiope,
Those water Fairies the Neriades.
Sending no horrid Monster from the seas,
To eate up beasts, and men; would proudly tell,
That thy sweet Beautie was their paralell;
Or to a rock suppose thou chained were,
To be devoured by a Monster there,
As was the heav'nly faire Andromeda,
The rock would moulder or else melt away:
With thy sweet self, as deeply fall'n in love;
Each Angel would thy Guardian Perseus prove:
With lesse presumption then Antigone,
Heaven's proud Juno can't compare with thee;
No, my Amanda, for I dare prefer,
Thee 'fore the stately Queen o'th' Thunderer,
Fore her and comely Venus both together,
Though Iove bring bolts, and Mars his gauntlet hither.
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On Amanda's dimples.
Once more I'm fall'n into an extasie!How I could gaze, gaze till I've lost my eye
Gaze on those dimples in thy cheekes and chin,
Where the three Graces play at in and in:
Three sacred vaults within whose rosie wombes,
Sweet Venus all her pretty smiles entombes;
Babes which born laughing, laughing live and die
Then are interr'd within thy rosarie:
They haunt thy lovely cheeks, and here and there
Their smiling ghosts appearing disappear;
Each from his head hath hanging down to's feet,
A lilie leafe instead of's winding sheet;
Shrouded in damask rose from top to toe,
About thy dimples they passe to and fro,
Still to thy dimples little shades do come,
Thinking thy dimples their Elysium;
And I my selfe finde such an Eden there,
Such heav'nly features, Heav'n so ev'ry where,
That with a willing heart I could resigne,
My clay to th'dust and shut my dying eyne;
Might my soul be when from my Corps it flies,
Amanda's Saint, and she its Paradise.
To Amanda on her black browes.
Thou'rt faire and black, thy browes as black as jett,But ne'er were black and white so lovely met,
The Moor's black Prince would court thee, there's in you
79
I've read of Goshen which the light did cover,
When a thick darknesse was all Egypt over,
Here's a transcendent wonder, here is ev'n,
Cimmerian darknesse in the face of Heav'n:
Enamel'd black upon thy browes is set,
Which other Madams do but counterfeit;
And those black patches which our Ladies weare,
To set their lilie out, is in thy haire:
Nor do thy twinkling eyes like two, clear, bright
Faire starres appear, 'cause in thy browes 'tis night,
No but thy browes because so nigh they stand
With thy bright eyes, are Sun-burn't, black't and tan'd,
Thy browes do mourn, and fit it is if e're
Thy ey'n, Amanda, shed one single tear;
If e're thou weep'st but once, although thou never,
Weep more, 'tis fit thy eye-brows mourn for ever.
To his best friend Mr. T. H.
True SIR,
The Countrey Gentleman who never mist,
When he walk't out his Faulc'ner at his fist:
Who once besides his hounds was able,
To keep a pack of servants at his Table;
Now trudges through the streets in any fashion,
To a Committee, and returnes in passion,
Chewing his lips for cud; it is not hard,
To know'n by's silver-haire malignant beard,
And his delinquent boots, in which he goes,
Wetshod i'th' sweat of's dirtie mellow toes;
'Tis pity troth such good old Gentlemen,
Are forc't to wear their old boots o're agen.
When he walk't out his Faulc'ner at his fist:
Who once besides his hounds was able,
To keep a pack of servants at his Table;
Now trudges through the streets in any fashion,
To a Committee, and returnes in passion,
Chewing his lips for cud; it is not hard,
To know'n by's silver-haire malignant beard,
And his delinquent boots, in which he goes,
Wetshod i'th' sweat of's dirtie mellow toes;
80
Are forc't to wear their old boots o're agen.
Nay Sir, the Prelates beg, his Lordships grace,
Walks with a scurvie Sequestration face,
The good old honest Priest is grown so poor,
He sayes his grace at another mans door;
You may know'n by the reliqus of's old Querpo coat,
By's Canonical rags he's a Priest you must know't,
His girdle is greasie, he doth all to befat it,
Black puddings he hangs, and sauciges at it,
Though once he preach't well, and learnedly spoke,
Now he hath not so much as a pig in a poke.
Walks with a scurvie Sequestration face,
The good old honest Priest is grown so poor,
He sayes his grace at another mans door;
You may know'n by the reliqus of's old Querpo coat,
By's Canonical rags he's a Priest you must know't,
His girdle is greasie, he doth all to befat it,
Black puddings he hangs, and sauciges at it,
Though once he preach't well, and learnedly spoke,
Now he hath not so much as a pig in a poke.
True Sir, the Clergie suffers, none can teach,
The truth with freedome, or with courage preach,
Instead of some good worthy pious Knox,
W' have nothing now but a Iack in a box;
The people without life or soul lie dead,
As under th' aspect of Medusa's head;
The Gentrie groans, the Nobles muzled are,
The heavie taxes make the Bumpkins swear,
And Tradesmen break; the truth o'th' storie's this,
The times are bad, and all things are amisse;
It is an iron age, an age that swarmes
With vipers, yet had I within mine armes
My lovely sweet one, that same Fairest she,
Whose love accepts my bribing Poetrie;
Pretty Amanda's kissing Alchymie,
Can make this age a golden age to me.
The truth with freedome, or with courage preach,
Instead of some good worthy pious Knox,
W' have nothing now but a Iack in a box;
The people without life or soul lie dead,
As under th' aspect of Medusa's head;
The Gentrie groans, the Nobles muzled are,
The heavie taxes make the Bumpkins swear,
And Tradesmen break; the truth o'th' storie's this,
The times are bad, and all things are amisse;
It is an iron age, an age that swarmes
With vipers, yet had I within mine armes
My lovely sweet one, that same Fairest she,
Whose love accepts my bribing Poetrie;
Pretty Amanda's kissing Alchymie,
Can make this age a golden age to me.
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To my Noblest and ever-Honoured friend, Sir Thomas Leventhorp, Baronet.
SIR,
Me thinks 'tis time to know the joyes of love,
'Toward great Hymens altar time to move;
And now no longer ward, 'tis fit you be
Guardian to some transcendent Deitie,
And make some wealthie beauty fortunate,
Not only in the share of your estate
And honours, but i'th' richer treasury
Of your faire person, and your sparkling eye,
Where a bright, radiant soul displayes
Its chaster twinkling flames, like the Sunnes rayes
In a clear Crystal font, when Zephyrus
That modest, luke-warme, Virgin-incubus
Makes the sweet Nimph hold out (the lovers blisse)
Cool trembling lips to take a passant kisse:
'Toward great Hymens altar time to move;
And now no longer ward, 'tis fit you be
Guardian to some transcendent Deitie,
And make some wealthie beauty fortunate,
Not only in the share of your estate
And honours, but i'th' richer treasury
Of your faire person, and your sparkling eye,
Where a bright, radiant soul displayes
Its chaster twinkling flames, like the Sunnes rayes
In a clear Crystal font, when Zephyrus
That modest, luke-warme, Virgin-incubus
Makes the sweet Nimph hold out (the lovers blisse)
Cool trembling lips to take a passant kisse:
'Tis pity that so rare a soul should be
Confin'd to thought, and in the Nunnerie
Of its own lodge, lead a monastick life,
Barr'd of all Consort joyes, which a good wife
Diffuseth like an Amber-box, wherein
Unguents, balme, spice, and perfum'd oile have been
Closely imprison'd, which now first take th' aire,
Like myrrhe and spikenard, when they bruised are,
And vie their odours with the violet,
The roses and carnations which are set
In my Amanda's cheeks, whose early breath
I'th' morning is an Antidote to death;
Sweeter then Cynamon, like Frankincense,
Preservative against the pestilence
Of melancholy fits, the dull disease
Of nods, brown studies, and such plagues as these;
Confin'd to thought, and in the Nunnerie
Of its own lodge, lead a monastick life,
Barr'd of all Consort joyes, which a good wife
Diffuseth like an Amber-box, wherein
Unguents, balme, spice, and perfum'd oile have been
Closely imprison'd, which now first take th' aire,
Like myrrhe and spikenard, when they bruised are,
82
The roses and carnations which are set
In my Amanda's cheeks, whose early breath
I'th' morning is an Antidote to death;
Sweeter then Cynamon, like Frankincense,
Preservative against the pestilence
Of melancholy fits, the dull disease
Of nods, brown studies, and such plagues as these;
'Tis fit so rare a bodie be possest
By two faire souls; so faire a soul be blest
With two faire bodies too; may both your minde
And bodie pleasure in its likenesse finde;
May she you choose be such, whose shape and feature
Shall speak her goddess rather then a creature;
May she be Eccho to your worth, in which
I fully wish she may be rarely rich,
In whatsoe're doth Admiration move,
In all the dainties of her sexe and love,
By two faire souls; so faire a soul be blest
With two faire bodies too; may both your minde
And bodie pleasure in its likenesse finde;
May she you choose be such, whose shape and feature
Shall speak her goddess rather then a creature;
May she be Eccho to your worth, in which
I fully wish she may be rarely rich,
In whatsoe're doth Admiration move,
In all the dainties of her sexe and love,
As for a single life, 'tis nothing lesse
Then Hermitage amongst a wildernesse
Of women, who do vaile their rarities,
Or else are fruitlesse or forbidden trees;
Besides, he studies Nature best 'tis known,
Who hath a Physick-garden of his own;
Which is most state, anothers land to till
And plough in common, or be Lord at will
In a Free-hold? Nay, then consider, Sir,
In robbing Orchards what the troubles are;
Though now from climbing private walls you free
Yet think what 'tis that tempts to th'robberie;
Youth and faire lovely fruit, though ne'er so good
And clean, sometimes the chastest flesh and blood
Must needs be bobbing; now to Tantalize,
And alwayes live by feeding of the eyes,
Is a poor silly banquet, on the thin,
Small, saplesse species that are served in,
By colour'd atomes, which an Elephant
Is as soon cloid with as the smallest Ant.
Then Hermitage amongst a wildernesse
Of women, who do vaile their rarities,
Or else are fruitlesse or forbidden trees;
Besides, he studies Nature best 'tis known,
Who hath a Physick-garden of his own;
Which is most state, anothers land to till
And plough in common, or be Lord at will
In a Free-hold? Nay, then consider, Sir,
In robbing Orchards what the troubles are;
Though now from climbing private walls you free
Yet think what 'tis that tempts to th'robberie;
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And clean, sometimes the chastest flesh and blood
Must needs be bobbing; now to Tantalize,
And alwayes live by feeding of the eyes,
Is a poor silly banquet, on the thin,
Small, saplesse species that are served in,
By colour'd atomes, which an Elephant
Is as soon cloid with as the smallest Ant.
I know you have a Martial warlike heart,
Your looks speak valour, which 'tis fit y' impart
To the next age, and though you'd rather make
Your sword eate men, then have a woman take
Your noble spirits pris'ners, yet to give
Birth to an heire, and that your name may live,
Do like your fathers, lest you guilty be
O'th' murther of your blood and familie.
Your looks speak valour, which 'tis fit y' impart
To the next age, and though you'd rather make
Your sword eate men, then have a woman take
Your noble spirits pris'ners, yet to give
Birth to an heire, and that your name may live,
Do like your fathers, lest you guilty be
O'th' murther of your blood and familie.
Nothing like his love to Amanda.
Go ye great Ranters, into th' wilde embraces
Of your stew'd Madams; lick their varnisht faces,
Where slimie snailes have crept; brag of the fee,
Wherewith they bribe your spending lecherie;
Then swash it to the Taverne, and confesse
That lust maintaines your pride and drunkenness.
Of your stew'd Madams; lick their varnisht faces,
Where slimie snailes have crept; brag of the fee,
Wherewith they bribe your spending lecherie;
Then swash it to the Taverne, and confesse
That lust maintaines your pride and drunkenness.
Go, you mad City-Huffs, who fright young heirs,
And fill those Lack-wits with strange jealous feares
Of your pretended valour make fair showes,
But dare as little as they to come to blowes;
Go with your Guardian Hectors who maintain
(Some petty booty, some small prize to gaine,)
A windfall Ladies honour, keep for pay
The old Troy-ruines of some Hecuba;
Jumble her bones within her shrivled skin,
And take the mud-walls of her carcase in;
Hug rotten Countesses which pockeaten are,
As if their Master-Coffin-wormes were there,
Who for a legacie would swear 'twere sweet
To spend o'th' stinking Corps i'th' winding sheet.
And fill those Lack-wits with strange jealous feares
Of your pretended valour make fair showes,
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Go with your Guardian Hectors who maintain
(Some petty booty, some small prize to gaine,)
A windfall Ladies honour, keep for pay
The old Troy-ruines of some Hecuba;
Jumble her bones within her shrivled skin,
And take the mud-walls of her carcase in;
Hug rotten Countesses which pockeaten are,
As if their Master-Coffin-wormes were there,
Who for a legacie would swear 'twere sweet
To spend o'th' stinking Corps i'th' winding sheet.
Go, cursed Misers, damned o're and o're,
For grinding the lean faces of the poor;
Morgage your carking soules and bodies to
A Usurer as mercilesse as you:
To fill your bags seek and scrape every where,
Dig to the centre, and die beggars there;
Go cheat and over-reach only to fill,
And take up paper with a tedious Will;
Create trouble to th' Executors to prize
Your wealthie goods, and pay out legacies,
Then your heir laughing, play at Hoop-all-hid
As once your rustie coffin'd money did:
Depart in hopes to be sav'd after all,
For the repairing an old Hospital,
Or some poor School-masters augmentation,
An exhibition to some Corporation
To set young Tradesmen up or so, then die
Rich in your gifts, and poor in charitie.
For grinding the lean faces of the poor;
Morgage your carking soules and bodies to
A Usurer as mercilesse as you:
To fill your bags seek and scrape every where,
Dig to the centre, and die beggars there;
Go cheat and over-reach only to fill,
And take up paper with a tedious Will;
Create trouble to th' Executors to prize
Your wealthie goods, and pay out legacies,
Then your heir laughing, play at Hoop-all-hid
As once your rustie coffin'd money did:
Depart in hopes to be sav'd after all,
For the repairing an old Hospital,
Or some poor School-masters augmentation,
An exhibition to some Corporation
To set young Tradesmen up or so, then die
Rich in your gifts, and poor in charitie.
Go, ye State-leaches, in your blessings curst,
Sweetly suck blood and money till you burst,
Fleece a whole Kingdom, then like silly sheep,
Which butchers in some fat'ning pastures keep
Only for slaughter, amongst cut-throats fall,
Pil'd, poll'd and snip't, shier'd and cashier'd of all;
Empsons and Dudleyes, Speakers and men o'th' chair,
Spoil'd as the Sultans griping Basha's are.
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Fleece a whole Kingdom, then like silly sheep,
Which butchers in some fat'ning pastures keep
Only for slaughter, amongst cut-throats fall,
Pil'd, poll'd and snip't, shier'd and cashier'd of all;
Empsons and Dudleyes, Speakers and men o'th' chair,
Spoil'd as the Sultans griping Basha's are.
Go, ye Court-spaniels, quest in honours sent,
Perfum'd and polish't with a complement,
Fawne and shake tailes to Ladies, keep them fed
With bribing viands of the banquet-bed,
With them their little dogs and Cupids play,
Till you be crack't and broken too as they,
Then your hope's lost, you slighted and forgot,
Down quickly to some Countrey goal, and rot;
But say, your Princes Favourite you be,
Grace't with the loose-hamm'd Courtiers knee;
Know there is Autumne in the midst o'th' spring
I'th' Court, and if the smiling face o'th' King
In which your honour lives, be overcast
With clouds, you only blossome to a blast.
Perfum'd and polish't with a complement,
Fawne and shake tailes to Ladies, keep them fed
With bribing viands of the banquet-bed,
With them their little dogs and Cupids play,
Till you be crack't and broken too as they,
Then your hope's lost, you slighted and forgot,
Down quickly to some Countrey goal, and rot;
But say, your Princes Favourite you be,
Grace't with the loose-hamm'd Courtiers knee;
Know there is Autumne in the midst o'th' spring
I'th' Court, and if the smiling face o'th' King
In which your honour lives, be overcast
With clouds, you only blossome to a blast.
Go, plodding Students, ramble through the Arts,
Learn all that science to the soul imparts,
Let notions huddle, swim and multiplie,
Till they do muster into heresie;
Receive those Centaur's and Chimera's in,
Which monster-like against true Reason sinne;
Go crack your braines with Elenches which are bred
By swarmes within a crazie brooding head;
Bring to the wrack your judgement, reason, sense,
To screw a truth from non-Intelligence;
Infect thy wits, with buzzing thoughts which flie
About like gnats, and sting out Reasons eye;
Reade errors till thou squint on truth; and make
Unity double and treble seem, so mistake,
And then at last be serv'd like th' Logick elfe,
Prov'd two egges three, supp'd on the third himself;
What a great businesse 'tis! what strength we spend,
What wit and time, all to no other end
Then to want parts and words, and wrangle still,
As if in chaines, we needs must prove free-will!
To hold predestination or decrees,
Or some such ridling, needlesse points as these!
What an act 'tis to write a book, then die,
And be confuted by posterity!
Learn all that science to the soul imparts,
Let notions huddle, swim and multiplie,
Till they do muster into heresie;
Receive those Centaur's and Chimera's in,
Which monster-like against true Reason sinne;
Go crack your braines with Elenches which are bred
By swarmes within a crazie brooding head;
Bring to the wrack your judgement, reason, sense,
86
Infect thy wits, with buzzing thoughts which flie
About like gnats, and sting out Reasons eye;
Reade errors till thou squint on truth; and make
Unity double and treble seem, so mistake,
And then at last be serv'd like th' Logick elfe,
Prov'd two egges three, supp'd on the third himself;
What a great businesse 'tis! what strength we spend,
What wit and time, all to no other end
Then to want parts and words, and wrangle still,
As if in chaines, we needs must prove free-will!
To hold predestination or decrees,
Or some such ridling, needlesse points as these!
What an act 'tis to write a book, then die,
And be confuted by posterity!
These are sad heavy thoughts of working brains,
Most fruitlesse projects, yet require paines;
The Huffes and Hector, do contrive and plot
To hug a Madam or a pottle-pot.
Most fruitlesse projects, yet require paines;
The Huffes and Hector, do contrive and plot
To hug a Madam or a pottle-pot.
Both, which they love alike, although their drink
And wine be sweet, perhaps their Madams stink:
The Miser toyles, and all his carking care
Can seldom purchase from his heire a teare,
Nay, whil'st he labours, strives and gaspes for breath
The frolick wag laughs the old fool to death,
The Statesman hatches Cuckows egges, gets in
A stock, then bever-like dies for his skin:
The Courtier lives on hopes, his Princes frown
Till the next smile kills him, and casts him down,
Still his preferment is adulterate,
Subject alike to honour and to hate:
The Scholar keeps a stir t' immortalize
His name, tumbles and tosses Libraries,
Puts on his doting winter-rug at night,
Sits up till two, two or three lines to write.
And wine be sweet, perhaps their Madams stink:
The Miser toyles, and all his carking care
Can seldom purchase from his heire a teare,
Nay, whil'st he labours, strives and gaspes for breath
The frolick wag laughs the old fool to death,
The Statesman hatches Cuckows egges, gets in
A stock, then bever-like dies for his skin:
The Courtier lives on hopes, his Princes frown
Till the next smile kills him, and casts him down,
87
Subject alike to honour and to hate:
The Scholar keeps a stir t' immortalize
His name, tumbles and tosses Libraries,
Puts on his doting winter-rug at night,
Sits up till two, two or three lines to write.
Well, well, Amanda, be but rul'd by me,
We'l spend our time in no such foolerie,
May I but make thee Dearest to my minde,
We will leave children, and not books behinde.
We'l spend our time in no such foolerie,
May I but make thee Dearest to my minde,
We will leave children, and not books behinde.
To Amanda supposing and wishing she were with childe.
With what delight and joy, me thinks I see
Thy swelling wombe increase its treasurie!
What a sweet poison 'twas! if all maids past
Fifteen, could themselves poison so, how fast
They'd kick up heels, be venom'd in their beds;
And murther those Chimera's Maidenheads:
How stately my Amanda looks! she seems to me
Diana in her crescent Majestie.
What frozen creature is't, won't wish as soon
As Phebe's spi'd himself the man i'th' Moon?
What Virgin thy faire Lunar globe can see,
And not straight wish to be i'th' full like thee?
Thy swelling wombe increase its treasurie!
What a sweet poison 'twas! if all maids past
Fifteen, could themselves poison so, how fast
They'd kick up heels, be venom'd in their beds;
And murther those Chimera's Maidenheads:
How stately my Amanda looks! she seems to me
Diana in her crescent Majestie.
What frozen creature is't, won't wish as soon
As Phebe's spi'd himself the man i'th' Moon?
What Virgin thy faire Lunar globe can see,
And not straight wish to be i'th' full like thee?
I wish, my Dearest, I could heare thee say,
The little boy kicks, willing to make his way
Into his fathers armes: Oh may he be
His own sweet mothers picture, not like me.
Ah could I heare it, [I have often smil'd
To think upon't] Amanda's great with childe!
She looks within a mon'th; would past all feare
I once might say, Welcome down stairs, my Deare;
Would thou were't church't, and the good wives were come
A gossipping! Now 'twil be guest by some
The maine thing that I wish implicitly
Is this, would I were brought to bed with thee.
The little boy kicks, willing to make his way
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His own sweet mothers picture, not like me.
Ah could I heare it, [I have often smil'd
To think upon't] Amanda's great with childe!
She looks within a mon'th; would past all feare
I once might say, Welcome down stairs, my Deare;
Would thou were't church't, and the good wives were come
A gossipping! Now 'twil be guest by some
The maine thing that I wish implicitly
Is this, would I were brought to bed with thee.
| Amanda | |