Celia's Triumph, Or, Venus' dethroned.  
The Gods forsake their Venus quite,  
And make fair Celia their Delight;  
Who now they have Enthroned above,  
And made her Queen of Us, and Love.  
To a new Tune of, Let the Critics adore, as it is Sung at the Playhouse. With Allowance. May 8. 1678. Ro. L'Estrange.  

LEt the Critics adore,  
Their Old Venus no more,  
She's a Gipsy,  
Silly Mortals ne'er think,  
That the Goddess will Drink  
and be Tipsy.   

None but Vulcan can abide her,  
she's grown so Black of late,  
In his Coal-hole he does hide her,  
to secure her from fate:  
All the Gods are stark mad,  
for a Venus more fair,  
And swear they'd be glad,  
that my Celia were there.   

For her beauty transcends,  
What fortune commends,  
I there Dowdy,  
All the Spheres took their light,  
From her Lustre more bright,  
that were Cloudy.   

At which transformation,  
the Gods they stood mute,  
Like Stocks in their Station,  
none daring Dispute,  
The force of her eyes  
which so wholly had gained  
From sad Venus the prize,  
which Celia obtained.   

Boast no more in Dull Rhimes,  
Brisk Lads of the times,  
that your Misses  
UUhom you only can prise,  
'Cause by hopes you may rise  
to dry Kisses.   

For their Highflown desires,  
could never attain  
To what Phillis aspires,  
for Celia shall reign:  
And since Venus submitted  
to he● prevalent charms,  
And her Sovereignty quitted,  
she slights your alarms.   

Let no new Upstart then  
Pretend to cross men  
with false flashes,  
And with pant presume,  
Which the Mercuries consume  
into ashes.   

But Submit and admire,  
what in Celia is found,  
And blushing retire  
to leave Celia Crowned:  
Let their Gallants run mad,  
for mere spite to behold,  
What made Phillis so sad,  
and Venus so cold.   

Let the Poets lay down  
Their long Usurped Crown,  
and present it  
Her the Muses have had,  
In their beauties been clad,  
and had lent it.   

But for Celia's great Glory,  
to dispose it where she  
Might in Fortune's Story,  
the chief wonder be:  
In adoring her beauty,  
I to happiness rise,  
And pay amorous Duty  
to Celia's Eyes.   

To their forces I gave  
Myself a willing slave,  
and am freer  
Than a Monarch in's Throne,  
UUho calls Europe his own,  
should he see her.   

For her Charms, like Medea's,  
would Eclipse his great state,  
Had he bounds, as the Sea has,  
he must yield to his Fate,  
And adore my bright Star,  
by whose influence I move,  
Like the Great God of UUar,  
in the Orb of her Love.   

Where I seated shall Reign,  
And still happy remain,  
since she gave me  
In return of my pain,  
What the Gods could not gain,  
and did save me.   

From a desperate fate,  
which her scorn would invite,  
And have put a full date  
to my joy and delight:  
But since she prefers me  
to the Gods, by whose pain,  
I shall freed from all fears be,  
and Celia obtain.    

Printed for P. Brooksby, at the Hospital-gate, in West-smithfield.