To CELIA.

PRinces make laws by which their subjects live
And the high gods rules for their worship give
How should poor Mortals else a service find
At all proportion'd to their mighty Mind?
Had it been left to us, each one would bring,
Of what he lik'd himself, an offering;
And with unwelcom zeal perhaps displease
Th' offended Deity he would appease.
All powers but thine this mercy do allow,
And how they wou'd be serv'd themselves do shew
A rude Barbarian wou'd his captiv'd fo
Fully instruct in what he'd have him do.
And can it be, my Celia, that Lov…
Less kind then War shou'd to the vanquisht prove;
Say, cruel Fair, then, would you that my flame
Shou'd for a while move under friendships name;
Or may it boldly like it self appear,
And its own tale deliver to your ear,
Or must it in my tortur'd bosome live
Like fire in quiet flints, and no light give;
And only then humbly send forth a small
Spark, when your self does on that subject fall;
My passion can with any laws comply,
And for your sake do any thing, but die.