The Rival Sisters -or- The Violence of Love

Celia has a thousand charms:
'Tis heaven within her arms.
While I stand gazing on her face
Some new and some resistless Grace
Fills with fresh magic all the place.

But while the nymph I thus adore,
I should my wretched fate deplore.
But, oh, Mirtillo, have a care,
Her sweetness is beyond compare.
But then she's false as well as fair.
Have a care, Mirtillo, have a care.

Take not a woman's anger ill,
But let this be your comfort still,
That if one won't, another will;
Though she that's foolish does deny,
She that is wiser will comply,
And if 'tis but a woman, what care I?

Then who'd be damn'd to swear untrue,
And sigh and weep, and whine and woo,
As all our supple coxcombs do?
All women love it, and though this
Does sullenly forbid the bliss,
Try but the next, you cannot miss.