Classic Poem

Grieve not, my Celia, but with haste
Obey the fury of thy fate;
'Tis some perfection to waste
Discreetly out our wretched state:
To be obedient in this sense
Will prove thy virtue, though offence.

Who knows but destiny may relent?
For many miracles have been:
Thou proving thus obedient
To all the griefs she plunged thee in:
And then, the certainty she meant
Reverted is, by accident.

But yet, I must confess, 'tis much,
When we remember what hath been:
Thus parting, never more to touch,
To let eternal absence in:
Though never was our pleasure yet
So pure, but chance distracted it.

What, shall we then submit to Fate,
And die to one another's love?
No, Celia, no, my soul doth hate
Those lovers that inconstant prove.
Fate may be cruel, but if you decline,
The crime is yours, and all the glory mine.

Fate and the planets sometimes bodies part,
But canker'd nature only alters th' heart.