Amo te solo, te solo amai;
Tu fosti il primo, tu pur sarai,
L’ultimo ogetto che adorero
Say not, my Celia, that I’m prone
To rove from Fair to Fair;
My heart once giv’n to thee alone
Thou ever reignest there.
When love sincere upon the soul
Had fix’d its genuine seal;
It aye preserves its soft control;
And such the love I feel.
Then, say not that to other Fair
My eye to often strays;
I only see thy beauties there,
When on their charms I gaze.
And quick comparison I trace
’Tween thee my Fair, and them;
And many a lovely form and face
On scrutiny condemn.
Those jet black eyes may fire the youth
Who Celia never knew
But want the tenderness and truth
That beam from hers of blue.
I grant the lily and the rose
Bloom beauteous in that face,
But in my Celia’s aspect glows
Expression’s lovelier grace.
That mouth is small, those teeth are white,
But where’s the silver tongue
That, when they pall upon the sight,
Can ecstasy prolong?
Tho form’s best grace, and motion’s skill
In many, charm combin’d
They’re but as lovely statues still
Without my Celia’s mind.
Yes, Celia yes, ’tis thee alone
I ever lov’d and love;
The earliest Queen my heart would own,
The last it e’er shall prove.