HArk how the trumpet sounds to battle,
Hark how the thundring cannons rattle;
Cruel ambition now calls me away,
While I have ten thousand soft things to say.
While honour alarms me,
Young Cupid disarms me,
And Celia so charms me,
I cannot away.
Hark again, honour calls me to arms,
Hark how the trumpet sweetly charms;
Celia no more then must be obey’d,
Cannons are roaring, and ensigns display’d:
The thoughts of promotion,
Inspire such a notion
Of Celia’s devotion,
I’m no more afraid.
Guard her for me, celestial powers,
Ye Gods, bless the nymph with happy soft hours;
O may she ever to love me incline,
Such lovely perfections I cannot resign;
Firm constancy grant her,
My true love shall haunt her,
My soul cannot want her,
She’s all so divine.