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 loving friend M T. G. upon covering his head in the Colledge-Butteries.
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To his loving friend M T. G. upon covering his head in the Colledge-Butteries.
What is the matter Tom, thou'rt grown so old,
Hoarie and white o'th' sudden? fear'st thou cold
Salt brackish rheumes should falling on thy chest
Thy windpipe rot, thy spungie lungs infest?
Yes, taplash breeds catarrhs, and thereupon
The Butler needs must starch thy night-cap on;
Tom, thou wert fudl'd o're night, and 'twas for fear,
Thou should'st i'th' morning drink too much small beer
After so hot an Orgyan sacrifice,
'Twas wholesome moral Physick not to size.
Hoarie and white o'th' sudden? fear'st thou cold
Salt brackish rheumes should falling on thy chest
Thy windpipe rot, thy spungie lungs infest?
Yes, taplash breeds catarrhs, and thereupon
The Butler needs must starch thy night-cap on;
Tom, thou wert fudl'd o're night, and 'twas for fear,
Thou should'st i'th' morning drink too much small beer
After so hot an Orgyan sacrifice,
'Twas wholesome moral Physick not to size.
O're night thou know'st it was thy fatal lot,
To mug, to quaffe, carouse and bownce the pot;
Next morne I hast'ned to the butterie-hatch,
How much Col-tiffe thou'dst drink I meant to watch;
But when I came, I view'd, look't every where,
The duce of any Tom or head was there.
First from the bottom of the Tables I spi'd,
And upwards ev'ry name I straightly ey'd:
Each name a round o'th' ladder seem'd to me
Then come to th' blank which put m' in minde of thee;
It emblem'd out a thief, who 'fore he dies
Lookes like thy head with's night-cap o're his eyes:
To mug, to quaffe, carouse and bownce the pot;
Next morne I hast'ned to the butterie-hatch,
How much Col-tiffe thou'dst drink I meant to watch;
But when I came, I view'd, look't every where,
The duce of any Tom or head was there.
First from the bottom of the Tables I spi'd,
And upwards ev'ry name I straightly ey'd:
Each name a round o'th' ladder seem'd to me
Then come to th' blank which put m' in minde of thee;
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Lookes like thy head with's night-cap o're his eyes:
How! proud and coy! Prethy now what do'st aile,
That like the wenches thou must mask and vaile,
And hide thy face (like them in heat of blood,)
In such a daintie, fine, white sarc'net hood?
Way with that mufler, shew thy face, let's see't:
Prethee leave off doing penance in a sheet.
Thou look'st like some old scurvie Countrey-Hag,
That makes a biggen of an oat-meal bag,
Whose face is mask'd with chin-cloth fine and gay,
To ride on Dick or Brown o'th' market-day:
Thou'rt like a Corps old women have laid out,
Whose meagre visage is cover'd with a clout;
I think they'l shroud thee too with time and bayes;
For they complain how thou hast spent thy dayes;
Die, Tom, in these bad times? thou must despair
Of being interr'd with Common-prayer.
That like the wenches thou must mask and vaile,
And hide thy face (like them in heat of blood,)
In such a daintie, fine, white sarc'net hood?
Way with that mufler, shew thy face, let's see't:
Prethee leave off doing penance in a sheet.
Thou look'st like some old scurvie Countrey-Hag,
That makes a biggen of an oat-meal bag,
Whose face is mask'd with chin-cloth fine and gay,
To ride on Dick or Brown o'th' market-day:
Thou'rt like a Corps old women have laid out,
Whose meagre visage is cover'd with a clout;
I think they'l shroud thee too with time and bayes;
For they complain how thou hast spent thy dayes;
Die, Tom, in these bad times? thou must despair
Of being interr'd with Common-prayer.
Rise prethee, feare not, thou shalt namelesse be,
Rascal, dost think, we can't new christen thee;
Nay in the old way too boy, and rather
Then not, I mean to be thy Godfather:
'Tis but small charges Sirrah; there needs no fee
Unto the Midwife or the Nurcerie;
Nor need I give my Godson some fine boon,
A Coral-Thistle with bells, or silver-spoon:
When thou art grown, canst go alone and prattle,
Please thy Nurse and Godfather with tittle tattle;
I'le give thee schooling; for thy books I'le pay,
Horne-books and Primmers, childe, to fling away;
Then thou shalt ask me blessing, pretty toy,
I'le stroke th' oth' head, God blesse thee, rise my boy;
Then chuck th'oth'chin, and with a Godfathers grace,
'Tis my good boy, here's for thee, learn apace:
Now if the black-coat come and cat'chize thee;
Answer him M. or N. Sir, T. or G,
If urgent still he ask thee, what's thy name?
Conjure and mum, crie, Oh Sir, Yes, that same.
Rascal, dost think, we can't new christen thee;
Nay in the old way too boy, and rather
Then not, I mean to be thy Godfather:
'Tis but small charges Sirrah; there needs no fee
Unto the Midwife or the Nurcerie;
Nor need I give my Godson some fine boon,
A Coral-Thistle with bells, or silver-spoon:
When thou art grown, canst go alone and prattle,
Please thy Nurse and Godfather with tittle tattle;
I'le give thee schooling; for thy books I'le pay,
Horne-books and Primmers, childe, to fling away;
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I'le stroke th' oth' head, God blesse thee, rise my boy;
Then chuck th'oth'chin, and with a Godfathers grace,
'Tis my good boy, here's for thee, learn apace:
Now if the black-coat come and cat'chize thee;
Answer him M. or N. Sir, T. or G,
If urgent still he ask thee, what's thy name?
Conjure and mum, crie, Oh Sir, Yes, that same.
But heark thee Tom, hast lost thy Sirname quite?
Wert thou degraded like a new dub'd Knight,
Cashier'd with good Sir Hal, Sir James, Sir John,
Who had their Honours dated fourtie one,
Whose pride by act of State was made a sinne,
Calling the last edition of titles in?
Stay th'next Platonick fourty one, and then
For some few yeares you shall be Knights agen.
Wert thou degraded like a new dub'd Knight,
Cashier'd with good Sir Hal, Sir James, Sir John,
Who had their Honours dated fourtie one,
Whose pride by act of State was made a sinne,
Calling the last edition of titles in?
Stay th'next Platonick fourty one, and then
For some few yeares you shall be Knights agen.
Thou i'th' mean while (it is an honourable word
Amongst the Hunch-backs) shalt be call'd my Lord:
Or else some Carter, rather then have none,
Shall lash and name thee, Robbin, Hob or Rhoan;
Yes, yes, thoud'st make a Stallion rare,
To earne thy Master Clod some groat's a mare,
Then for thy motions Rhe, ho, hut will do,
The Aldermans Thiller thy name-sake too.
And then all day to have thy Tutor sing,
Lash thee and whistle, (then rogue) fresh grasse i'th' spring;
Yes and i'th' winter-time to have a maw,
To feed on hawme of pease and barley-straw;
Then draw up hill, and when the cart goes dead.
To be well-pun'd with whips i'th' flanck or head,
And then thy Mastet when thou'st spent thy force,
To clap thy buttocks with Gra-mercie-horse.
Amongst the Hunch-backs) shalt be call'd my Lord:
Or else some Carter, rather then have none,
Shall lash and name thee, Robbin, Hob or Rhoan;
Yes, yes, thoud'st make a Stallion rare,
To earne thy Master Clod some groat's a mare,
Then for thy motions Rhe, ho, hut will do,
The Aldermans Thiller thy name-sake too.
And then all day to have thy Tutor sing,
Lash thee and whistle, (then rogue) fresh grasse i'th' spring;
Yes and i'th' winter-time to have a maw,
To feed on hawme of pease and barley-straw;
Then draw up hill, and when the cart goes dead.
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And then thy Mastet when thou'st spent thy force,
To clap thy buttocks with Gra-mercie-horse.
But prethy, Tom, tell what the reason is,
Thou'rt harness't in this metamorphosis?
They say that thou wert mad, horne-mad, and now
Thou wear'st a kinde of Bondgrace like a Cow.
Thou'rt harness't in this metamorphosis?
They say that thou wert mad, horne-mad, and now
Thou wear'st a kinde of Bondgrace like a Cow.
Heaven blesse thee, my best chicken, I dare say
Thou wer't unkindly us'd, who will say nay?
For troth I know thy heart and temper well,
'Tis plain and easie for the world to spell;
Open and free, and lodg'd within a breast,
Wherein no swelling envious serpents neast;
It alwayes in a grateful posture lies
Thy loving friends most ready sacrifice;
And from thy bosome should he it command,
Thy bosome straight lies open to his hand:
I know thee well, I've read thee o're and o're;
Thou only want'st two or three faces more;
One for thy publike use, t' Hippocritize,
A Chappel-mask, a garb and Sunday-eyes.
But let that falshood passe, thou know st I know
The men o'th' world are riddles, so let them go,
My civil charity doth speak it sinne,
To rifle others closets or look in;
Yet if their hearts were hell, I'd never doubt
To venture in, to fetch the devil out;
For some have thought the worst they can of you,
Who dare I'm sure no worse then they dare do;
But I'le not preach in verse, lest some of those
Should envie me, who can't do't well in prose;
No, Tom, at present thou my theam shalt be,
And as men name a text, so I'le name thee;
As they do little or nought to th' purpose say,
So I'le but name thee just, and then away;
And rather then thou still shalt nothing be,
But Entelechia and hæcceitie;
I'le name thee Cambridge-Tom, and of thee vaunt,
As they of Munster-Jack, and John of Gaunt;
Thomas Thomasius thou shalt be,
Or Thompson of the Danish progenie;
Or Tom ap Thomas like that Welch device
And link of names, ap Owen, ap Hugh, ap Rice;
Or else with them I'le borrow from the Jewes,
Name thee as they the sonnes of Rabbi's use,
Rabbi-ben-Majim, who Majims loines came from,
So will I name thee Rabbi Tom-ben-Tom.
Thou wer't unkindly us'd, who will say nay?
For troth I know thy heart and temper well,
'Tis plain and easie for the world to spell;
Open and free, and lodg'd within a breast,
Wherein no swelling envious serpents neast;
It alwayes in a grateful posture lies
Thy loving friends most ready sacrifice;
And from thy bosome should he it command,
Thy bosome straight lies open to his hand:
I know thee well, I've read thee o're and o're;
Thou only want'st two or three faces more;
One for thy publike use, t' Hippocritize,
A Chappel-mask, a garb and Sunday-eyes.
But let that falshood passe, thou know st I know
The men o'th' world are riddles, so let them go,
My civil charity doth speak it sinne,
To rifle others closets or look in;
Yet if their hearts were hell, I'd never doubt
To venture in, to fetch the devil out;
For some have thought the worst they can of you,
Who dare I'm sure no worse then they dare do;
But I'le not preach in verse, lest some of those
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No, Tom, at present thou my theam shalt be,
And as men name a text, so I'le name thee;
As they do little or nought to th' purpose say,
So I'le but name thee just, and then away;
And rather then thou still shalt nothing be,
But Entelechia and hæcceitie;
I'le name thee Cambridge-Tom, and of thee vaunt,
As they of Munster-Jack, and John of Gaunt;
Thomas Thomasius thou shalt be,
Or Thompson of the Danish progenie;
Or Tom ap Thomas like that Welch device
And link of names, ap Owen, ap Hugh, ap Rice;
Or else with them I'le borrow from the Jewes,
Name thee as they the sonnes of Rabbi's use,
Rabbi-ben-Majim, who Majims loines came from,
So will I name thee Rabbi Tom-ben-Tom.
| Amanda | |