html.skin-theme-clientpref-night @media(prefers-color-scheme:dark){html.skin-theme-clientpref-os }From Wars and Plagues come no such harms,
As from a Nymph so full of Charms,
So much Sweetness in her Face,
In her Motions such a Grace,
In her kind inviting Eyes
Such a soft Enchantment lies,
That we please our selves too soon,
And are with vain hopes undone
After all her softness, we
Are but Slaves, while she is free;
Free, alas, from all desire,
Except to set the World on fire.
Thou, fair Dissembler, dost but thus
Deceive thy self as well as us;
Like Ambitious Monarchs, thou
Would'st rather force Mankind to bow,
And venture o'er the World to roam,
Than govern with content at home.
But trust me, Celia, trust me when
Apollo's self inspires my Pen,
One hour of Love's Delights out-weighs
Whole Years of Universal Praise,
And one Adorer kindly used,
Is of more use, than Crowds refused.
For what does Youth and Beauty serve?
Why more than all your Sex deserve?
Why such soft alluring Arts
To charm our Eyes, and melt our Hearts?
By our loss, you nothing gain;
Unless you love, you please in vain.