Classic Poem

All things submit themselves to your command,
Fair Celia , when it does not Love withstand;
The power it borrows from your eyes alone,
All but the God must yield to who has none;
Were he not blind, such are the Charmes you have,
He'd quit his Godhead to become your Slave.
Be proud to act a Mortal Heroes part,
And throw himself for Fame on his own Dart;
But Fate hath otherwise dispos'd of things,
In different Bonds subjecting Slaves, and Kings.
Fetter'd in Forms of Royal State are they,
While we enjoy the Freedom to Obey.
That Fate (like you resistless) does ordain
That Love alone should over Beauty Reign.
By Harmony the Universe does move;
And what is Harmony, but mutual Love?
See gentle Brooks, how quietly they glide,
Kissing the rugged Banks on either side,
Whil'st in their Christal Stream at once they show,
And with them feed the Flowers which they bestow;
Though prest upon by their too rude embrace,
In gentle murmurs they keep on their pace
To their Lov'd Sea; for even streams have desires,
Cool as they are, they feel Love's pow'rful fires:
And with such passion, that if any force
Stop or molest 'um in their Am'rous course,
They swell with rage, break down, and ravage ore
The Banks they kiss'd, the flowers they fed before.
Who would resist an Empire so Divine,
Which Universal Nature does enjoyn?
Submit then Celia e're you be reduc'd,
For Rebels vanquisht once, are vilely us'd.
And such are you, when e're you dare obey
Another passion, and your Love betray.
You are Loves Citadels, by you he reigns,
And his proud Empire o're the World maintains;
He trusts you with his Stratagems and Arms,
His frowns, his smiles, and all his conquering charms.
Beauty's no more but the dead Soyl which Love
Mannures, and does by wise Commerce improve;
Sayling by Sighes through Seas of tears, he sends,
Courtship from Forraign hearts: For your own ends
Cherish the Trade; for as with Indians we
Get Gold and Jewels for our Trumpery,
So to each other for their useless Toyes,
Lovers afford whole Magazins of Joyes:
But if youe're fond of Bawbles, be, and starve,
Your Gugaw Reputation preserve;
Live upon Modesty and empty Fame,
Forgoing Sense, for a Fantastick Name.

[Could I but make my wishes insolent]

Could I but make my wishes insolent
And force some image of a false content?
But they like mee bashfull and humble growne
Hover att distance about Beautyes throne
There worship and admire and then they dye
Daring noe more Lay Hold of her than I.
Reason to worth beares a submissive spirritt
But Fooles can bee familliar with merritt.
Who but that Blundring blockhead Phaeton
Could e're have thought to drive about the Sun.
Just such another durst make Love to you
Whom not ambition led but dullness drew,
Noe Am'rous thought would his dull heart incline
But he would have a passion, for 'twas fine
That, a new suite, and what hee next must say,
Runs in his Idle head the live Long day.
Hard hearted saint, since 'tis your will to Bee
Soe unrelenting pittiless to mee
Regardless of A Love soe many yeares
Preserv'd twix't Lingring hopes and awfull feares
Such feares in Lovers Breasts high vallue claimes
And such expiring martyrs feele in flames.
My hopes your selfe contriv'd with cruell care
Through gentle smiles to leade mee to despaire,
Tis some releife in my extreame distress
My rivall is Below your power to Bless.