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 Amanda putting flowers in her bosome.
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 | Amanda |  |
To Amanda putting flowers in her bosome.
Tis not the pinck I gaze upon,
Nor th' pleasant Cowslip I look on;
No nor the lovely violet,
Shutting its purple Cabinet:
Nor the white lilie now and then,
For envie looking pale and wan.
Nor th' ruddie scarlet damask rose,
Like thy lips where Coral growes;
Nor th' yellow Caltha, whose fair leaves,
From thy bright beauty day receives;
That gilt Sunne-dial which doth catch
And hug the Sun-beames, Natures watch,
Which by its strange horoscopie,
To the working whispering Bee,
What time of day 'twas once did tell,
Now-like the pretty Pimpernel,
When shut, when open it shall lie,
Takes its direction from thine eye:
No nor the primrose, though it be
Modest, and simper too like thee:
Which gladly spoiled of its balme,
Ravish't this morning in its bed,
Bequeath's thy hand its maiden-head.
Nor th' pleasant Cowslip I look on;
No nor the lovely violet,
Shutting its purple Cabinet:
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For envie looking pale and wan.
Nor th' ruddie scarlet damask rose,
Like thy lips where Coral growes;
Nor th' yellow Caltha, whose fair leaves,
From thy bright beauty day receives;
That gilt Sunne-dial which doth catch
And hug the Sun-beames, Natures watch,
Which by its strange horoscopie,
To the working whispering Bee,
What time of day 'twas once did tell,
Now-like the pretty Pimpernel,
When shut, when open it shall lie,
Takes its direction from thine eye:
No nor the primrose, though it be
Modest, and simper too like thee:
Which gladly spoiled of its balme,
Ravish't this morning in its bed,
Bequeath's thy hand its maiden-head.
No, but the rarest of the bower,
Leap-up-come-kisse me, is the flower;
I look to see how that lookes proud
Made in thy bosome Cupids shroud,
Then whil'st you there those flowers strow,
My love doth in Procession go;
Cupid awakes, and is not dead,
His shroud's a garland on his head;
Thou'dst make a posie fit for me,
Oh that my hand might gather thee.
Or could those flowers leave me when they die,
Those sweeter flower-pots a legacie.
Leap-up-come-kisse me, is the flower;
I look to see how that lookes proud
Made in thy bosome Cupids shroud,
Then whil'st you there those flowers strow,
My love doth in Procession go;
Cupid awakes, and is not dead,
His shroud's a garland on his head;
Thou'dst make a posie fit for me,
Oh that my hand might gather thee.
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Those sweeter flower-pots a legacie.
| Amanda | |