Celia Singing

Hark, how my Celia, with the choice
Musick of her hand and voice
Stils the loud wind; and makes the wild
Insenséd bore and panther mild;
Mark how these statues like men move,
Whilst men with wonder, statues prove!
This stiff rock bends to worship her,
That idol turns idolater.

Now see how all the new inspir’d
Images with love are fir’d;
Hark how the tender marble groans,
And all the late transforméd stones
Court the fair nymph with many a tear, 
Which she (more stony than they were)
Beholds with unrelenting mind;
Whilst they, amaz’d to see combin’d
Such matchless beauty with disdain,
Are all turn’d into stones again.