To Celia

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Not, Celia, that I juster am,
  Or better than the rest;
For I would change each hour like them
  Were not my heart at rest.

But I am tied to very thee,
  By every thought I have;
Thy face I only care to see,
  Thy heart I only crave.

All that in woman is ador'd
 In thy dear self I find;
For the whole sex can but afford
 The handsome and the kind.

Why then should I seek farther store
 And still make love anew?
When change itself can give no more,
 'Tis easy to be true.

© Sir Charles Sedley