Song
Tell me no more you love; in vain,
Fair Celia, you this passion feign.
Can those pretend to love that do
Refuse what Love persuades us to?
Who once has felt his active flame,
Dull laws of Honor does disdain.
You would be thought his slave, and yet
You will not to his power submit.
More cruel then those beauties are
Whose coyness wounds us with despair:
For all the kindness which you show,
Each smile and kiss which you bestow,
Are like those cordials which we give
To dying men, to make them live,
And languish out an hour in pain —
Be kinder, Celia, or disdain.
Fair Celia, you this passion feign.
Can those pretend to love that do
Refuse what Love persuades us to?
Who once has felt his active flame,
Dull laws of Honor does disdain.
You would be thought his slave, and yet
You will not to his power submit.
More cruel then those beauties are
Whose coyness wounds us with despair:
For all the kindness which you show,
Each smile and kiss which you bestow,
Are like those cordials which we give
To dying men, to make them live,
And languish out an hour in pain —
Be kinder, Celia, or disdain.
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