Love arms himself in Celia's eyes
Whene'er weak reason would rebel,
And ev'ry time I dare be wise,
Alas a deeper wound I feel.
Repeated thoughts present the ill,
Which seeing I must still endure,
They tell me love has darts to kill
And wisdom has no pow'r to cure.

Then cruel reason give me rest.
Quit in my heart thy feeble hold,
Go try thy force in Celia's breast,
For that is disengag'd and cold.
There all thy nicest arts employ,
Confess thyself her beauty's slave,
And argue whilst she may destroy
How great, how godlike 'tis to save.