The Je Ne Sais Quoi

Yes, I'm in love, I feel it now,
And Celia has undone me;
And yet I swear I can't tell how
The pleasing pain stole on me.
'Tis not her face which love creates,
For there no graces revel:
'Tis not her shape, for there the fates
Have rather been uncivil.

'Tis not her air, for sure in that
There's nothing more than common;
And all her sense is only chat,
Like any other woman.
Her voice, her touch might give th' alarm;
'Twas both, perhaps, or neither;
In short, 'twas that provoking charm
Of Celia altogether.