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 Mr. John Mors, Merchant in Kings Lynne, on the death of Mrs. A. Mors his wife. |
 | Amanda |  |
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To Mr. John Mors, Merchant in Kings Lynne, on the death of Mrs. A. Mors his wife.
Mors tua Mors Christi.
Alas, good Gentleman, hath that sweetest love
That spouse of yours made out her last remove
Hath death that great Knight-Errant, who doth play
And dodge in's motions, here, there, every way,
Checkmated you in taking of your Queen,
Or is't a Sthale? No 'ts more, then be'nt o'reseen,
For now she's taken as your pawn, and when
Your time is come, 'twill be check-mate agen;
But i'th' mean while you're loser in a word,
It is but setting another Queen o'th' board;
Yet must you not begin the game anew,
Till th' loser pay what for the last was due;
Then troth Sir, for this six or seven yeares
You must be daily paying summes of teares,
And all your friends like faithful Clerks stand by
T'help tell, lest for a tear you tell an eye.
That spouse of yours made out her last remove
Hath death that great Knight-Errant, who doth play
And dodge in's motions, here, there, every way,
Checkmated you in taking of your Queen,
Or is't a Sthale? No 'ts more, then be'nt o'reseen,
For now she's taken as your pawn, and when
Your time is come, 'twill be check-mate agen;
But i'th' mean while you're loser in a word,
It is but setting another Queen o'th' board;
Yet must you not begin the game anew,
Till th' loser pay what for the last was due;
Then troth Sir, for this six or seven yeares
You must be daily paying summes of teares,
And all your friends like faithful Clerks stand by
T'help tell, lest for a tear you tell an eye.
With you good Seathrifts common 'tis to mourn
And weep at th'inconsiderable losse of worne,
Old, decay'd barks, whose Stoage is nothing moe
Then Haberdeen, poor John, or Indigo;
For which such streames th' prodigal humour sheds,
That with your ships your eyes sink in your heads;
Then, Sir, at what expence ought you to be,
Your great misfortune will discover t'e;
The best of all your vessels buldg'd and lost,
To be recover'd by no charge or cost,
Your family-rudder broke, and all your store
Of spice and amber, your perfumes and ore,
Thrown to the deep; for she was more to you,
More then all these, your India, your Peru;
And weep at th'inconsiderable losse of worne,
Old, decay'd barks, whose Stoage is nothing moe
Then Haberdeen, poor John, or Indigo;
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That with your ships your eyes sink in your heads;
Then, Sir, at what expence ought you to be,
Your great misfortune will discover t'e;
The best of all your vessels buldg'd and lost,
To be recover'd by no charge or cost,
Your family-rudder broke, and all your store
Of spice and amber, your perfumes and ore,
Thrown to the deep; for she was more to you,
More then all these, your India, your Peru;
If womens souls be Planets in the aire,
And rule like potent Constellations there,
Surely the Merchants wives will there reside,
Darting kinde beams their husbands ships to guide;
Then in your voyage if a storme arise,
Lost in the clouds, look for her brighter eyes,
And if a conduct Cynosure you see,
Fall down, do homage and strike saile, 'tis she.
And rule like potent Constellations there,
Surely the Merchants wives will there reside,
Darting kinde beams their husbands ships to guide;
Then in your voyage if a storme arise,
Lost in the clouds, look for her brighter eyes,
And if a conduct Cynosure you see,
Fall down, do homage and strike saile, 'tis she.
She who whil'st living was more then your Star,
Your heav'n on earth, a blessing greater farre:
She that did make all beasts, fowle fish and men,
As though she'd work th' Creation o're agen,
Who wrought the starres into a Canopie,
And in her Samplers taught Astrologie,
Where th' Heavens face she made so bright appear,
That Tycho might have read new Lectures there,
Birds feather'd with her silk you'd swear did flie,
Camels have past too through her needles eye;
Saw you how she hath wrought Eves naked thighs,
You'd think yourself with her in Paradise:
Sh' hath made the Muses, Venus and her elfe,
And faire Diana too look like her selfe;
Then the three Graces all so sweet and neat,
That would Dame Nature make a piece compleat,
To ravish and surprize the worlds eye,
Hence she must take the patern to work it by:
Then Io, Danäe, such pretty things,
You'd swear they're made for gods, and not for Kings.
In shadows she would vaile a physnomie,
Then work a candle and light, to see it by;
'Tis true most women good at night-work be,
But few or none so good, so neat as she.
Your heav'n on earth, a blessing greater farre:
She that did make all beasts, fowle fish and men,
As though she'd work th' Creation o're agen,
Who wrought the starres into a Canopie,
And in her Samplers taught Astrologie,
Where th' Heavens face she made so bright appear,
That Tycho might have read new Lectures there,
Birds feather'd with her silk you'd swear did flie,
Camels have past too through her needles eye;
Saw you how she hath wrought Eves naked thighs,
You'd think yourself with her in Paradise:
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And faire Diana too look like her selfe;
Then the three Graces all so sweet and neat,
That would Dame Nature make a piece compleat,
To ravish and surprize the worlds eye,
Hence she must take the patern to work it by:
Then Io, Danäe, such pretty things,
You'd swear they're made for gods, and not for Kings.
In shadows she would vaile a physnomie,
Then work a candle and light, to see it by;
'Tis true most women good at night-work be,
But few or none so good, so neat as she.
Admired fancies! Oh they are so good.
That could she but have wrought in flesh and blood,
And made those beauties speak, and something do,
Surely she might have made my Mistris too;
Nay she hath wrought a face, so much to th'life,
I fear you'l court it for your second wife.
That could she but have wrought in flesh and blood,
And made those beauties speak, and something do,
Surely she might have made my Mistris too;
Nay she hath wrought a face, so much to th'life,
I fear you'l court it for your second wife.
Troth, Sir, who e're she be shall tempt your blood,
See how she's like your first, so farre she's good;
You'l make your self and all your friends rejoyce,
To draw her picture in your second choice;
And as i'th' Indias when you walk about,
To finde some precious mineral out,
Some richer rocks of gold, you search and trie,
By signes and tokens where the veine doth lie:
Be as exact in choosing your new Bride,
Let your last wifes Idea be your guide;
Let her faire visage teach your rambling eye
To know the cloisters of a treasurie;
If any like her be, know she's divine,
And fall to work, for she's a wealthie mine,
A pearle fit to be worne on Merchants necks,
Like her the choicest Sampler of her sex,
See how she's like your first, so farre she's good;
You'l make your self and all your friends rejoyce,
To draw her picture in your second choice;
And as i'th' Indias when you walk about,
To finde some precious mineral out,
Some richer rocks of gold, you search and trie,
By signes and tokens where the veine doth lie:
Be as exact in choosing your new Bride,
Let your last wifes Idea be your guide;
Let her faire visage teach your rambling eye
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If any like her be, know she's divine,
And fall to work, for she's a wealthie mine,
A pearle fit to be worne on Merchants necks,
Like her the choicest Sampler of her sex,
Oh could you finde but such a Matron out,
So loving, chaste, prudent, discreet, devout;
So constant a Colleague, so faire as she,
Who is there that would not your Factor be?
What Coward is't would not make out for her,
Hoist sailes, and be a Merchant-venturer?
All Courtship stormes, tempests and tides defie,
Waving the flashes of her lightning eye;
And though she threatned shipwrack, think it sport
To split, and so swim naked to the Port.
So loving, chaste, prudent, discreet, devout;
So constant a Colleague, so faire as she,
Who is there that would not your Factor be?
What Coward is't would not make out for her,
Hoist sailes, and be a Merchant-venturer?
All Courtship stormes, tempests and tides defie,
Waving the flashes of her lightning eye;
And though she threatned shipwrack, think it sport
To split, and so swim naked to the Port.
Then, Sir, be charie in your second choice,
And let the pleasant musick of her voice
Speak your first Consort, let your second be
Your first wifes Monument, her Elegie;
Fairly recruit, be the most blest of men,
And in your second choose your first agen:
Solet your vertuous spouse survive in this,
That you are wedded to her Emphasis.
And let the pleasant musick of her voice
Speak your first Consort, let your second be
Your first wifes Monument, her Elegie;
Fairly recruit, be the most blest of men,
And in your second choose your first agen:
Solet your vertuous spouse survive in this,
That you are wedded to her Emphasis.
| Amanda | |