Song: To Celia
Come my Celia, let us
While we can, the sports of love;
Time will not be ours forever;
He at length, our good will sever.
Spend not then his gifts in vain.
Suns that set, may rise again;
But, if once wee lose this light,
'Tis, with us, perpetual night.
Why should we defer our joys?
Fame, and rumor are but toys.
Cannot we delude the eyes
Of a few poor household spies?
Or his easier ears beguile,
So removed by our wile?
'Tis no sin, love's fruits to steal,
But the sweet theft to reveal,
To bee taken, to be seen,
These have crimes accounted been.
Drink to me, only, with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine;
Or leave a kiss but in the cup,
And I'll not look for wine.
The thirst that from the soul doth rise,
Doth ask a drink divine;
But might I of Jove's nectar sup,
I would not change for thine.
I sent thee, late, a rosy wreath,
Not so much honoring thee,
As giving it a hope, that there
It could not withered be.
But thou thereon did'st only breathe,
And sent'st it back to me;
Since when it grows, and smells, I swear,
Not of itself, but thee.