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Oh love! that stronger art than Wine, Pleasing Delusion, Witchery divine, Wont to be priz'd above all Wealth, Disease that has more Joys than Health; Though we blaspheme thee in our Pain, And of Tyranny complain, We are all better'd by thy Reign.
What Reason never can bestow, We to this useful Passion owe: Love wakes the dull from sluggish ease, And learns a Clown the Art to please: Humbles the Vain, kindles the Cold, Makes Misers free, and Cowards bold; And teaches airy Fops to think.
When full brute Appetite is fed, And choakd the Glutton lies and dead; Thou new Spirits dost dispense, And fine'st the gross Delights of Sense.
Virtue's unconquerable Aid That against Nature can persuade; And makes a roving Mind retire Within the Bounds of just Desire. Chearer of Age, Youth's kind Unrest, And half the Heaven of the blest!
Arphra Behn
Read poems about / on: passion, nature, heaven, pain, song, love, joy
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