Amanda, a sacrifice to an unknown goddesse, or, A free-will offering of a loving heart to a sweet-heart by N.H. of Trinity Colledge in Cambridge

On his bed standing in his study.

WHat are the Muses chambers made to be A lodge for sleep? their gard'ns his nurcerie? Must fancie's Hymen, must the god of light Dance with the dull, dark Bridegroom of the night? Did e're the sisters for a requiem go To fields, where slumbring sleepie poppies grow? Did ever bed-stead on Parnassus stand? Usurping Morpheus, didst thou e're command, And shake thy leaden scepter, in the Court Where watchful active Muses use to sport? Though'st thou to be, though not at all divine, A bed-fellow to any of the nine? Which sister is't hath lost her maiden-head? The strumpet now must needs be brought to bed; Which Muse must waiting-Gentlewoman be, Turne pisse-tail'd Chambermaid to tend on thee? What, must the noble spritely Pegasus Engender with the foggie night-mare thus: Making a stable of my Chamber-room, My bed the manger, and my self the Groom? Know crazie god of sleep, a Poet can Without a night-cap make a hymne to Pan; Take not thy drowsie blankets, ('tis a sinne) To tosse the Muses high-borne children in; Poets are ne're so dull to sacrifice,

Watch-lights and tapers to nights Deities; Is there 'tween Lethe and Pyrene's streams, No diff'rence? are Enthusiasmes dreames? Shall Phoebus sonnes i'th' bed drive light away, And with Apollo's curtain blinde the day? Here lies a bedrid-Poet, I'd rather have A dormitorie without Epitaph, Then on my monument it should be sed, Euterpe's smother'd in a feather-bed: Me for no hydromantick novice take, Who cast my water for experience sake, I'm no young Paeon, that thus at my hand My Urine alwayes should so closely stand; At twelve o'th' clock it truly may be sed, To me you're come but newly from your bed. Somnus the Muses Closet must not be, A cabbin for thine Incubus and thee. Yet I love sleep, good Morpheus do not frown, I only wish my feather-bed were down.