Sportive vvit the muses merriment, a new spring of lusty drollery, joviall fancies, and a la mode lamponnes, on some heroic persons of these late times, never before exposed to the publick view / collected for the publick good by a club of sparkling wits, viz. C.J., B.J., L.M., W.T., cum multis alsis----

A SONG.

1.

O My Dearest I shall grieve thee, VVhen I sweare, yet Sweet believe me; By thine eyes the tempting book, On which even crabbed ol•• men look; I swear to thee, though none abhor them, Yet do I not love thee for them.

2.

I do not love thee for that faire Rich Fan of thy most curious haire, Although the wires thereof be drawn Far finer than the threds of Lawn, And are softer than the leaves On which the subtile Spinner weaves.

3.

I do not love thee for those Flowers Growing on thy cheeks, Loves bowers; Though such cunning them hath spread, That none can part their white and red: Loves golden arrowes thence are shot, And yet for them I love thee not.

4.

I do not love thee for those soft Red Corrall'd lips I k••st so oft, Nor teeth of Pearle, the double guard To speech, where Musick still is heard; Though from those lips a kisse being taken, Can tyrants melt, and death awaken▪

4.

I do not love thee, oh my fairest, For that richest, for that rarest Silver piller, that stands under Thy round head, the Globe of wonder; Though that neck be whiter far Than towers of polished Ivory are.

6.

I do not love thee for those mountaines, Hid with snow, where milky fountaines, Sugar'd sweet as syrrop'd berries, Must one day run through pipes of cherries▪ O how much those breasts do move me, Yet for them I do not love thee.

7.

I do not love thee for that belly, Sleek as sattin, soft as jelly; Although within that Christ ••ll round VVhole heaps of treasure might be found, So rich, that for the least of them, A King might give his D••adem.

8.

I do not love thee for those thighes, VVhose A••••blaster rocks do rise So high, and even that they stand Like sea-ma••k•• to some happy Land. Happy are those eyes have seen them, More happy he shall saile between them.

9.

I do not love thee for that palm, Although the dew thereof be balm, Nor for that pretty leg and foot, Although it be the precious root, On which this goodly Caedar grows; My Sweet, I love thee not for those.

10.

Nor for thy wit, though pure and quick, VVhose substance no Arithmetick Can number down; nor for those charms Thou mak'st with thine embracing armes: Although in them one night to lye, My dearest I would gladly dye.

11.

I love thee not for eyes or haire, Nor teeth, nor cheeks, nor lips so rare, Nor for thy speech, nor neck, nor breast, Nor for thy belly, nor the rest, Nor for thy hand, nor foot so small, But wilt thou know, dear sweet, for all?