Come, my Celia, let us prove
While we may need the sports of love,
Time will not be ours forever,
He at length our good will sever.
Spend not then his gifts in vain;
Suns that set may rise again,
But if once we lose this light,
‘Tis with us perpetual night.
Why should we defer our joys?
Fame and rumour are but toys.
Cannot we delude the eyes Of a few poor household spies?
Or his easier ears beguile,
Are we so removed by our while?
‘Tis no sin love’s fruits to steal,
But the sweet theft to reveal,
To be taken, to be seen,
These have crimes accounted been.
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