Classic Poem

If you refuse me once, and think again,
I will complain,
You are deceiv'd: Love is no work of Art,
It must be got and born,
Not made and worn,
Or such wherein you have no part.

Or do you think they more then once can dy
Whom you deny?
Who tell you of a thousand deaths a day,
Like the old Poets fain,
And tell the pain
They met but in the common way.

Or do you think it is too soon to yield,
And quit the Field?
You are deceiv'd, they yield who first intreat;
Once one may crave for love,
But more would prove
This heart too little, that too great.
Give me then so much love, that we may burn
Past all return,
Who mid'st your beauties flames, and spirit lives,
So great a light must find
As to be blind
To all but what their fire gives.

Then give me so much love, as in one point
Fix'd and conjoynt
May make us equal in our flames arise,
As we shall never start
Until we dart
Lightning upon the envious eyes.

Then give me so much love, that we may move
Like starrs of love,
And glad and happy times to Lovers bring;
While glorious in one sphere
We still appear,
And keep an everlasting Spring.