html.skin-theme-clientpref-night @media(prefers-color-scheme:dark){html.skin-theme-clientpref-os }Fair Amarillis, on the Stage, whilst you
Behold a feigned Love, you gave a true;
I like a Coward in the Amorous War,
Came only to look on, yet got a Scar;
Fixt by your Eyes, I had no power to flie,
They held me whil'st you gain'd the Victory:
I thought I safely might my sight content,
To which the power to like (not Love) I lent;
And if I ventur'd on some slight Discourse,
It should be such as could no Passion nurse:
Led by the treacherous lustre of your Eyes,
At last I plaid too near the Precipice:
Love came disguis'd in Wonder and Delight;
And I was Conquer'd e're I knew him right;
Your words fell on my Passion, like those showers
Which swell and multiply the rising Flowers;
Like Cupid's self, a God, and yet a Child,
Your Looks at once were awful, and yet mild:
Methoughts you Blush'd, as Conscious of my Flame,
Whil'st your strict Vertue did your Beauty blame:
But rest secure; y'are from the guilt as free,
As Saints Ador'd from our Idolatry;
And Love, a Torment, does for me prepare,
Beyond your Rigour in my own Despair.