tell me, Celia, you approve,
Yet never must return my love
An answer that my hope deftroys,
And in the Cradle wounds our joys.
To kill at once what needs must die,
None would to Birds and Beafts deny.
How can you then fo cruel prove,
As to preserve and torture Love?
That Beauty Nature kindly meant
For her own Pride, and our Content;
Why shou'd the Tyrant Honour make
Our greatest torment? Let us break
His Yoke, and that base power difdain,
Which only keeps the good in pain.
In Love and War th' Impoftor do's
The best to greatest harms expofe.
Come then, my Celia, let's no more
This Devil, for a God adore.
Like foolish Indians we have been,
Whose whole Religion is a fin.
If we the Laws of Love had kept,
And not in Dreams of Honour flept,
He would have furely, long e're this,
Have Crown'd us with the highest Bliss;
Our Joy had then been as compleat,
As now our Folly has been great.
Let's lofe no time then, but repent,
Love welcomes best a Penitent.
ANSWER.
By the fame Author.
Hyrfis, I wish as well as you,
To Honour there were nothing due:
Then would I pay my debt of Love
In the fame Coin that you approve;
Which now you must in Friendship take,
'Tis all the Payment I can make;
Friendship fo high, that I muft fay,
'Tis rather Love with fome allay.
And reft contented, fince that I
As well my self as you deny.
Learn then of me bravely to bear
The want of what you hold most dear;
And that which Honour does in
Let my Example work on thee.
CELIA.
By the fame Author.
Rinces make Laws, by which their Sub
And the high Gods, Rules for their Worship
How should poor Mortals elfe a Service find
At all proportion'd to their mighty Mind?
Had it been left to us, each one would brin
Of what he lik'd himself, an Offering;
And with unwelcome Zeal, perhaps, displ
Th' offended Deity he would appease.
All Powers but thine, this Mercy do allow,
And how they would be ferv'd themselve
A rude Barbarian wou'd his Captiv'd Foe
Fully inftruct in what he'd have him do.
And can it be, my Celia, that Love
Lefs kind than War fhould to the vanquish'd prove.
Say, cruel Fair, then, would you that my flame Shou'd for a while move under Friendships
Or may it boldly, like it felf appear,
And its own Tale deliver to your Ear?
Or muft it in my tortur❜d Bosom live,
Like Fire in quiet Flints, and no Light give:
And only then humbly fend forth a small
Spark, when your self does on that fubje& fall?
My Paffion can with any Laws comply,
And for your fake do any thing, but Die.
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