Classic Poem

When Sylvia is kind, and Love plays in her eyes,
I think 'tis no morning till Sylvia does rise;
Of Sylvia the hills and the valleys all ring,
Her beauty's the subject each shepherd does sing:
But, if she proves cruel, how little will move
Those charms which inspired us with raptures of love?
Thy rigour, dear Sylvia, will shorten thy reign,
And make our bright goddess a mortal again.

Love heightens our joys; he's the ease of our care;
Inspires the valiant and crowns all the Fair:
O seize his soft wings then before 'tis too late,
Or cruelty quickly will hasten thy fate.
'Tis kindness, dear Sylvia, 'tis kindness alone
Will add to thy lovers and strengthen thy throne:
In love as in empires, tyrannical sway
Will make loyal subjects forget to obey.