Cælia singing

Till I beheld fair Cælia's face,

where perfect Beauty keeps her Court,

A Lovers passion found no place in me,

who counted Love a sport:

I thought the whole world could not

move a well resolved heart to love.

Wounded by her I now adore

Those pow'rs of Love I have defi'd,

I court the flames I scorn'd before,

And am repayd with Scorn and Pride:

In such unpitty'd Flames to dwell,

Is not a Martyrdome, but Hell.

Cupid can't help me, nor wound her,

He'l rather prove my Rivall hence,

Though blind he'l turn Idolater,

For she hath Charms for ev'ry sence;

Should he her voyce's musick heare,

Soft Love would enter Love's own Eare.