![]() | Poems by Matthew Stevenson | ![]() |
To Celia.
Not love you! whom the world confessThe miracle of prettiness.
That were an humour to disguise
My reason, and betray my eyes.
No, no, without dissimulation,
Your Beauty is too strong temptation.
Had I not found you the rare she,
Y' had liv'd, unlov'd, unmov'd by me?
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Enriched with one single grace.
A forehead handsom, smooth, and high;
A lovely Lip, or Chin, or eye.
But pardon (Celia) if I love
You in whom more than all these movd,
Deign then one gentle smile on me,
Who will Your constant Umbra be.
So long as either I have eyes,
Or You have wherewith to surprize.
Choose (Madam) of the two, which You think best,
The harder favour, or a softer breast.
Aut faciem mutes, aut nè sis dura, necesse est.
![]() | Poems by Matthew Stevenson | ![]() |