To Idera, Dreaming she was Angry

FAirer than all the Grecian Dames!
Idera! too too fair!
These Touchwood Reliques of my Flames,
For Heaven's sake forbear:
For thô your Anger at a distance burn,
My Soul, Love's Tinder, will to nothing turn.

Why would you me from Love disswade?
Why would you tye my Tongue?
My Infant Passion thus upbraid?
Tell me, I am too young?
Oh! why in Visions all my hopes destroy!
Have you forgot that Cupid was a Boy?

If thus in Dreams you can despise!
If thus you can beguile!
Assume a Visard for disguise!
Do any thing but smile!
All the effects of Helen's Weed will be,
Passions essential to a Deity.

Ah! Duserastes is undone!
Unless your goodness spare;
For thô the heat of your bright Sun
He can with pleasure bear,
Yet if your Lightning strike his dazled Eyes,
In horrour and confusion Duserastes dies.