Since my words, though ne'er so tender,
With sincerest truth express'd,
Cannot make your heart surrender,
Nor so much as warm your breast;
What will move the springs of Nature
What will make you think me true?
Tell me, thou mysterious creature,
Tell poor Strephon what will do.
Do not, Charmion, rack your lover
Thus, by seeming not to know
What so plainly all discover,
What his eyes so plainly show.
Fair one, 'tis yourself deceiving,
'Tis against your reason's laws;
Atheist-like (th' effect perceiving)
Still to disbelieve the cause.
