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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A Mock-sonnet. |
 | Amanda |  |
151
A Mock-sonnet.
Why so Faire? why so sweet?
My Fairest sweet one, why so coy?
Why so angry? why so fretting?
That pretty face, didst thou but see't,
How thy soft cheeks so smooth and faire,
Like to those full fat buttocks are,
Where Venus claps her plump-ars't boy,
How they rise
About thine eyes,
And betwixt thy nose out-jetting;
Would'st thou but wave thy modestie,
And look from top to toe,
Above, below,
What daintie things there be,
Thy milk-white, full-milch't breast,
Upon whose swelling hills doth rest,
Aminta's new wash t flock,
Where the Graces make caresses,
Like most am'rous shepherdesses,
Surely thou canst not think I mock.
My Fairest sweet one, why so coy?
Why so angry? why so fretting?
That pretty face, didst thou but see't,
How thy soft cheeks so smooth and faire,
Like to those full fat buttocks are,
Where Venus claps her plump-ars't boy,
How they rise
About thine eyes,
And betwixt thy nose out-jetting;
Would'st thou but wave thy modestie,
And look from top to toe,
Above, below,
What daintie things there be,
Thy milk-white, full-milch't breast,
Upon whose swelling hills doth rest,
Aminta's new wash t flock,
Where the Graces make caresses,
Like most am'rous shepherdesses,
Surely thou canst not think I mock.
152
Lovely Faire, why so chaste?
Why so peevish? so untoward?
At what my Deare hast took distaste?
Sweetest faire one, why so froward?
Would'st thou but view impartially,
The rolling gogles of thine eye,
Thy unthatch't browes so neatly set
With scales of scurf all o're,
Thy hairelesse eye-lids alwayes wet
And stiffe with gum good store
Didst thou but see
Upon thy nose how prettily
I'th' pimpled pockholes all about
Cupid's play bopeep in and out,
How thy snag-teeth stand orderly,
Like stakes which strut by th' water-side,
Stradling to beat off the tide,
Till green and worn to th'stumps they be;
Would'st thou but once, my Dearest-sweet,
Look thy self o're from head to feet,
Below, above,
Thou canst not chuse but think I love.
Why so peevish? so untoward?
At what my Deare hast took distaste?
Sweetest faire one, why so froward?
Would'st thou but view impartially,
The rolling gogles of thine eye,
Thy unthatch't browes so neatly set
With scales of scurf all o're,
Thy hairelesse eye-lids alwayes wet
And stiffe with gum good store
Didst thou but see
Upon thy nose how prettily
I'th' pimpled pockholes all about
Cupid's play bopeep in and out,
How thy snag-teeth stand orderly,
Like stakes which strut by th' water-side,
Stradling to beat off the tide,
Till green and worn to th'stumps they be;
Would'st thou but once, my Dearest-sweet,
Look thy self o're from head to feet,
Below, above,
Thou canst not chuse but think I love.
153
Beautie, beautie, what doest mean
Cupid sucks my heart-blood out,
And well thou know'st I cannot wean
The child, for thy sweet dugs do give him life
When I would starve the rogue; then turn about,
Busse me and say thou'lt be my wife,
For troth when e're I see,
Either what is below thy knee,
Or if mine eyes I cast,
On parts above thy waste;
Where e're my sense doth move,
I'm more and more in love.
Still from thine eyes there passes,
As from great burning-glasses,
Lightning in such frequent flashes,
That consume my heart to ashes;
Nay, when thou blow'st thy snottie nose,
The bellows of thy nostril blowes
The fire of love into a flame,
And th'oile of Arm-pits feeds the same,
Thy legges, breast, lips and eyes inslave me,
But if behinde thee once I come,
Ond view the mountains of thy bum,
Oh then
I'm mad to have thee.
Cupid sucks my heart-blood out,
And well thou know'st I cannot wean
The child, for thy sweet dugs do give him life
When I would starve the rogue; then turn about,
Busse me and say thou'lt be my wife,
For troth when e're I see,
Either what is below thy knee,
Or if mine eyes I cast,
On parts above thy waste;
Where e're my sense doth move,
I'm more and more in love.
Still from thine eyes there passes,
As from great burning-glasses,
Lightning in such frequent flashes,
That consume my heart to ashes;
Nay, when thou blow'st thy snottie nose,
The bellows of thy nostril blowes
The fire of love into a flame,
And th'oile of Arm-pits feeds the same,
Thy legges, breast, lips and eyes inslave me,
But if behinde thee once I come,
Ond view the mountains of thy bum,
Oh then
I'm mad to have thee.
| Amanda | |