Daphne: a Song

No longer, Daphne, I admire The graces in thine eyes; Continu'd coyness kills desire, And famish'd passion dies.

Three tedious years I've sigh'd in vain, Nor could my vows prevail; With all the rigours of disdain, You scorn'd my amorous tale.

When Celia cry'd, how senseless she, That has such vows refus'd; Had Damon giv'n his heart to me, It had been kinder us'd.

The man's a fool that pines and dies, Because a woman's coy: The gentle bliss, that one denies, A thousand will enjoy.

Such charming words, so void of art, Surprizing rapture gave; And tho' the maid subdu'd my heart, It ceas'd to be a slave.

A wretch condemn'd, shall Daphne prove; While blest without restraint, In the sweet calendar of love My Celia stands—a saint.