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 Choak'D 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!