Celia's an angel, by her face

Celia's an angel, by her face
The rose and lily's shamed,
The tresses of love's queen, for grace,
With her's can ne'er be named:
The gods, cried one, that face with care
Formed in their best of humours,
What pity 'tis both face and hair
Were bought at the perfumer's:

Celia has sworn to love till death;
For words so full of bliss,
I could have longed, but for her breath,
To steal an ardent kiss;
Rapture itself is poor and cold,
To joy that she discovers,
What pity she the same has told
To fifty other lovers.

Celia is young, behold her mein,
Alert from top to toe,
My aunt says she was just fifteen
Some thirty years ago:
Thus youth and beauty's best delights
Sweet Celia are adorning,
For she a Venus is at nights,
A sybil in the morning.