Prophetess or The History of Dioclesian

Let the Graces and Pleasures repair,
With the youthful, the gay, the witty and fair.
May all harmless delights,
Happy days and kind nights,
For ever attend this blest pair.

What shall I do to show how much I love her?
How many millions of sighs can suffice?
That which wins other's hearts, never can move her,
Those common methods of love she'll despise.

I will love more than man e'er lov'd before me;
Gaze on her all the day, and melt all the night;
'Till for her own sake, at last she'll implore me,
To love her less, to preserve our delight.

Since gods themselves could not ever be loving,
Men must have breathing recruits for new joys;
I wish my love could be ever improving, 
Though eager love more than sorrow destroys.

In fair Aurelia's arms leave me expiring,
To be embalm'd by the sweets of her breath;
To the last moment I'll still be desiring;
Never had hero so glorious a death.

Since from my dear Astraea's sight
I was so rudely torn,
My soul has never known delight,
Unless it were to mourn.

But oh! alas, with weeping eyes
And bleeding heart I lie;
Thinking on her, whose absence 'tis,
That makes me wish to die.

Still I'm wishing, still desiring;
Sill she's giving, I requiring;
Yet each gift I think too small.
Still the morn I am presented,
Still the less I am contented,
Thro' she vows she has giv'n me all.

Can Drusilla give no more?
Has she lavish'd all her store?
Must my hopes to nothing fall?
O you know not half your treasure;
Give me more, give over measure,
Yet you can never, never give me all.

Tell me why, my charming fair,
Tell me why you thus deny me.
Can despair of these sighs and looks of care
Make Corinna ever fly me?
O Mirtillo! you're above me;
I respect but dare not love ye.
She who hears, inclines to sin,
Who parleys half gives up the town,
And ravenous love soon enters in,
When once the out-work's beaten down:
Then my sighs and tears won't move ye,
No Mirtillo, you're above me;
I respect but dare not love ye.
Could this lovely, charming maid
Think Mirtillo would deceive her?
Could Corinna be afraid
She by him should be betray'd?
No, too well, I love her,
Therefore cannot be above her.
O let love with love be paid.
My heart, my life, my all I give her.
Let me now receive her.
Oh! how gladly we believe,
When the heart is too, too willing:
Can that look, that face deceive?
Can he take delight in killing?
Ah! I die if you deceive me.
Yet I will believe ye.