Song XIX., p.268.

[Tea-Table Miscellany Contents]

LOve, thou art the best of humane joys, 

Our chiefest happiness below; 

All other pleasures are but toys, 

Musick without thee is but noise, 

Beauty but an empty show. 


Heaven that knew best what men cou’d move, 

And raise his thoughts above the brute, 

Said, let him be, and let him love, 

That only must his soul improve, 

Howe’er philosophers dispute. 

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