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] |
 |
|
|
A Passion.
|
|
 | Amanda |  |
59
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;
60
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,
61
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.
| Amanda | |