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
Hookes, Nicholas, 1628-1712., Drayton, Michael, 1563-1631. England's heroical epistles. Latin & English. Selections.
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The Author to the READER.
HEav'n blesse thy sweet face, for in troth, I know,
Though 't's ne'er so ugly, sweet thou think'st it though,
'Tis a good cast o'th' eye, thou'st look't upon
Things which brought here make no comparison:
Women love gazing eyes, Amanda (Sir)
Is such a toy, then pray now pleasure her;
Perhaps she may seem beautiful, and then
I'm sure she'l please and pleasure you agen;
He that cracks Opticks, and doth lose his sight
In viewing Beautie, is no loser by t;
Oh what a sinner that poor mortal is,
That viewes and scannes his Maker's Artifice!
We draw from th' order this great world hath in't,
An Atheist-confuting Argument;
Then sure in womens world• so little and faire,
More forcing Logick, better Topicks are;
Why is't w' admire th' Apostles i'th' cherrie stones,
Traduskin shewes, but cause they're little ones?
Who knowes, whil'st he at female Beauties stares,
But he may see an Angel unawares;
Howe're'tis not unlikely he may move,
If she be kinde, into a Heav'n of love;
Yet I'le not make a Stoick an Amorato,
No, I shall leave him still to reade his Cato,
Some fine grave head, there be, whose brains are adle,
Page [unnumbered][A carelesse Nurse 'twas crack't their sculls i'th' Cradle]
Whose dull old wrinkled brow, and rotten tooth,
Accept of nothing that is faire and smooth,
By whom my harmlesse lines will termed be,
Nought lesse then speculative adulterie,
But age and eating crabs, must needs excuse
Their doting, peevish humours, to my Muse:
Some new-found changeling Saints, with looks precise,
Rolling the goggles of their bloodshed eyes,
Will call Amanda light and trull, and scorn her,
Yet reade her o're, and kisse her in a corner.
But how the things call'd wits will fling about,
To see my paultrie Mistresse new come out!
Oh these are angrie beasts, they'l kick and throw,
Ware hornes, my Dear, or up thy smock will go.
Troth rather then their flings we will endure,
We'l get some slie-slaps for their gad-flies sure:
Yes, yes wits wanton humours to prevent,
We'l shortly have an Act of Parliament.
You noble, Civil soules, whoe're you be
Whose modest, frolick ingenuitie
Cleanseth your hearts from self-conceit and gall,
If on Amanda you but smile, and call
Her faire, may you finde Mistresses as good
As I can fancie, real flesh and blood.
