Right from the opening, the speaker admits defeat: he’s been a rebel against love, but one look at Olinda and he drops his weapons. He invites Love to act like a tyrant now that such beauty backs it up. What follows is a playful, witty self-justification. Why resist when innocence, beauty, and wit gang up to inflame desire? He reasons there’s no real risk because her sweetness and honesty make surrender safe, even delightful. But the tone quickly shifts from clever bargaining to helpless rapture. By the final stanza, he’s completely overcome—her image is too bright, his heart feels near breaking, and all his logic dissolves into a cry of ecstatic overload. The mood is giddy and adoring, a mix of mock-captivity and genuine, almost painful bliss. It’s the feeling of falling so hard that resistance feels absurd, and the only choice is to exult in the sweet trap.
To This Moment a Rebel — Summary
To this moment a rebel I throw down my arms, Great Love, at first sight of Olinda's bright charms. Make proud and secure by such forces as these, You may now play the tyrant as soon as you please.
When Innocence, Beauty, and Wit do conspire To betray, and engage, and inflame my Desire, Why should I decline what I cannot avoid? And let pleasing Hope by base Fear be destroyed?
Her innocence cannot contrive to undo me, Her beauty's inclined, or why should it pursue me? And Wit has to Pleasure been ever a friend, Then what room for Despair, since Delight is Love's end?
There can be no danger in sweetness and youth, Where Love is secured by good nature and truth; On her beauty I'll gaze and of pleasure complain While every kind look adds a link to my chain.
'Tis more to maintain than it was to surprise, But her Wit leads in triumpth the slave of her eyes; I beheld, with the loss of my freedom before, But hearing, forever must serve and adore.
Too bright is my Goddess, her temple too weak: Retire, divine image! I feel my heart break. Help, Love! I dissolve in a rapture of charms At the thought of those joys I should meet in her arms.