Know Celia, since thou art so proud, 'Twas I that gave thee thy renown; Thou hadst, in the forgotten crowd Of common beauties, liv'd unknown, Had not my verse exhal'd thy name, And with it imp'd the wings of fame. That killing power is none of thine, I gave it to thy voice, and eyes; Thy sweets, thy graces, all are mine; 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 forms adore, I'll know thee in thy mortal state; Wise poets that wrapp'd Truth in tales, Knew her themselves, through all her veils.
Form: ababcc6. imp'd: repaired, from the practice (in falconry) of grafting new feathers to an injured falcon's wing. 15. mystic forms: i.e., her supernatural soul, the soul being the \
