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SONG. Celia singing.
HArke how my Celia, with the choyce
Musique of her hand and voyce
Stills the loude wind; and makes the wilde
Incensed Bore, and Panther milde!
Marke how those statues like men move,
Whilst men with wonder statues prove!
This stiffe rock bends to worship her,
That Idoll turnes Idolater.
Now see how all the new inspir'd
Images, with love are sir'd!
Harke how the tender Marble grones,
And all the late transformed stones,
Court the faire Nymph with many a tears,
Which she (more stony then they were)
Beholds with unrelenting mind;
Whilst they amaz'd to see combin'd
Such matchlesse beautie, with disdaine,
Are all turn'd into stones againe.