Indeed, my Celia, 'tis in vain

Indeed, my Celia, 'tis in vain;
Away with this coquettish art,
These froward looks, this forc'd disdain,
Believe me you mistake your part:
'Tis kindness now alone can move,
Can guide the wandering shaft of Love,
And fix it in the youthful heart.

Time was indeed, a scornful Beauty
('Twas then the mode, or history lies)
Was courted with obsequious duty,
Was won with prayers, and tears, and sighs;
Love now by other maxims rules;
The god who made our fathers fools
But serves to make their offspring wise.

Yet though you've lost the power of teasing,
Let no regrets perplex your mind,
You still retain the gift of pleasing,
And that's a better art you'll find:
Suppose then that I said and swore
Whate'er each puppy vow'd before,
And own at once you will be kind.

Nor talk of constancy and truth,
Eternal flames, and such droll fancies;
'Tis like perpetual health and youth,
And only met with in romances:
While pleasure courts us, let's be gay,
Nor think about a future day,
Care of itself too fast advances.