Ode De Theophile

Thy Beauties, Dearest Isis, have
Disturbed Nature at their sight,
Thine Eyes to Love his blindness gave,
Such is the vigour of their light:
The Gods too only minding thee,
Let the World err at liberty.

And having in the Suns bright Eye
Thy glances counterfeited seen,
Even their Hearts, my Sweet, thereby
So sensibly have wounded been:
That, but they're fixt, they'd come to see,
And gaze upon their Creature thee.

Beleive me, in this humor They
Of things below have little Care,
Of good, or ill, we do; or say,
Then since, Heaven lets thee love me, Dear,
Without revenging on thine Eye,
Or striking me in Iealousy.

Thou mayst securely in mine Arms
And warm Womb of my wanton bed,
Teach me t' unravel all thy Charms.
Thou nothing, Isis, needest dread:
Since Gods themselves had happy been,
Could all their power have made thee Sin.