Ingratefull beauty threatned.

KNow Celia, (since thou art so proud,)
'Twas I that gave thee thy renowne:
Thou hadst, in the forgotten crowd
Of common beauties, liv'd unknowne,
Had not my verse exhal'd thy name,
And with it, ympt the wings of fame.

That killing power is none of thine,
I gave it to thy voyce, and eyes:
Thy sweets, thy graces, all are mine;
Thou art my starre, shin'st in my skies;
Then dart not from thy borrowed sphere
Lightning on him, that sixt thee there.

Temptme with such affrights no more,
Lest what I made, I uncreate;
Let fooles thy mystique formes adore,
I'le know thee in thy mortall state:
Wise Poets that wrap't Truth in tales,
Knew her themselves through all her vailes.