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. |
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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.
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