Classic Poem

Celia , the faithful servant you disown,
Wou'd in obedience keep his Love unknown;
But bright Idea's such as you inspire,
We can no more conceal, than not admire;
My heart at home, in my own brest did dwell,
Like humble Hermit in a peaceful Cell,
Unknown, and undisturb'd, it rested there,
Stranger alike to Hope, and to Despair:
But Loves Tumultuous Train does now invade
The Sacred quiet of this Hallow'd Shade;
His fatal flames shine out to every eye,
Like blazing Comets in a Winters Sky.
Fair and severe like Heaven you injoyn,
Commands that seems cross to your own design;
Forbidding what your selves incline us to:
Since if from Heavenly Powers you will allow,
That all our faculty proceed; 'tis plain,
What 'ere we will, is what the Gods ordain;
But they and you, Rights without Limit have,
Over your Creatures, and (more yours) your slave:
And I am one, born only to admire,
Too humble 'ere to hope, scarce to desire,
A thing whose bliss depends upon your will;
Who wou'd be proud, you'd deign to use him ill.
How can my passion merit your offence,
That challenges so little recompence?
Let me but ever love, and ever be
The example of your power and cruelty;
Since so much scorn does in your brest reside,
Be more indulgent to its Mother, Pride;
Kill all you strike, and trample on their Graves,
But own the Fates of your neglected Slaves:
When in the crowd yours undistinguish'd lyes,
You give away the Tryumph of your Eyes:
Permit me then to glory in my Chains,
My fruitless Sighs, and my unpitied Pains:
Perhaps obtaining this, you'l think I find
More Mercy than your Anger has design'd;
But Love has carefully contriv'd for me,
The last perfection of Misery:
For to my State those hopes of Common peace,
Which Death affords to every Wretch, must cease;
My worst of Fates attends me in my Grave,
Since, dying, I must be no more your Slave.