The shooting starres attend thee

Her eyes the glow-worm lend thee,
The shooting stars attend thee;
    And the elves also,
    Whose little eyes glow
Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee.

No Will-o'th'-Wisp mislight thee;
Nor snake, or slow-worm bite thee:
    But on, on thy way
    Not making a stay,
Since ghost there's none to affright thee.

Let not the dark thee cumber:
What though the moon does slumber?
    The stars of the night
    Will lend thee their light,
Like tapers clear without number.

Then Julia let me woo thee,
Thus, thus to come unto me;
    And when I shall meet
    Thy silv'ry feet,
My soul I'll pour into thee.

Give me more love, or more disdaine;
The Torrid, or the frozen zone,
Bring equall ease unto my paine;
The temperate affords me none:
Eigher extreme, of love, or hate,
Is sweeter than a calm estate.
Then crowne my joyes, or cure my paine;
Give me more love, or more disdaine.

— Tacet —

Know, Celia, since thou art so proud,	
  ’Twas I that gave thee thy renown;	
Thou hadst in the forgotten crowd	
  Of common beauties lived unknown,	
Had not my verse exhal'd thy name,
And with it ympt the wings of Fame.	
 
That killing power is none of thine:	
  I gave it to thy voice and eyes;	
Thy sweets, thy graces, all are mine;	
  Thou art my star, shin’st in my skies;
Then dart not from thy borrowed sphere	
Lightning on him that fixed thee there.	
 
Tempt me with such affrights no more,	
  Lest what I made I uncreate;	
Let fools thy mystic forms adore,
  I know thee in thy mortal state:	
Wise poets, that wrapt Truth in tales,	
Knew her themselves through all her veils.	

A-/ round
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