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ODE.

[What need with Art my fond Excess]

I

What need with Art my fond Excess
Of Tenderness to blind?
While from my Looks, fair Nymph! you guess
The Secret of my Mind.

II

In vain I seek to hide the Fire
My artless Eyes reveal:
In vain the Flames such Charms inspire
I study to conceal.

116

III

Then, Cælia, when I fondly gaze,
And you the Cause explore;
Your Malice with my Torment plays:
The Cause you knew before.

IV

While all Things show I love — ah why
Such Coldness dost thou feign?
And in soft Anguish while I lye,
Regardless see my Pain.

V

By Love oppress'd, and by Despair,
I should your Pity move:
Why should I meet a Fate severe
When all my Crime is Love.

VI

For cold Neglect, or proud Disdain,
That Form was ne'er design'd:
Or cease to Charm, or ease my Pain,
And be less Fair, or Kind.