YES, I'm in love, I feel it now,

And Cælia has undone me;

And yet I'll swear I can't tell how

The pleasing plague stole on me.

'Tis not her face that love creates,

For there no graces revel;

'Tis not her shape, for there the fates

Have rather been uncivil.

'Tis not her air, for sure in that

There's nothing more than common;

And all her sense is only chat

Like any other woman.

Her voice, her touch, might give th' alarm--

'Twas both perhaps, or neither;

In short, 'twas that provoking charm

Of Cælia altogether.