If the quick spirits in your eye Then, Celia, let us reap our joys Ere Time such goodly fruit destroys. Or if that golden fleece must grow If those bright suns must know no shade, Then fear not, Celia, to bestow What, still being gather'd, still must grow. Thus either Time his sickle brings 12 INGRATEFUL BEAUTY THREATENED Know, Celia, since thou art so proud, 'Twas I that gave thee thy renown. Thou hadst in the forgotten crowd Of common beauties lived unknown, Had not my verse extoll'd thy name, And with it imp'd the wings of Fame. That killing power is none of thine; Thou art my star, shin'st in my skies; Then dart not from thy borrow'd sphere Lightning on him that fix'd thee there. Tempt me with such affrights no more, Lest what I made I uncreate; Let fools thy mystic form adore, I know thee in thy mortal state. II AN EPITAPH This little vault, this narrow room, 'Twas but a bud, yet did contain 12 12 Which his proud dangers traffic for, 24 Wise poets, that wrapt Truth in tales, Is but the triumph of an hour; That from the farthest North, Some nation may, Yet undiscover'd, issue forth, And o'er his new-got conquest sway: 28 |