AH! bright Bellinda, hither fly,
And such a light discover,
As may the absent sun supply,
And chear the drooping lover.
Arise, my day, with speed arise,
And all my sorrows banish:
Before the sun of thy bright eyes,
All gloomy terrors vanish.
No longer let me sigh in vain,
And curse the hoarded treasure:
Why should you love to give us pain,
When you were made for pleasure?
The petty powers of hell destroy;
To save’s the pride of heaven:
To you the first, if you prove coy;
If kind, the last is given.
The choice then sure’s not hard to make,
Betwixt a good and evil:
Which title had you rather take,
My Goddess, or, my devil.