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If love be holy, if that mystery O co-united hearts be sacrament; If the unbounded goodness have infused A sacred ardour of a mutual love Into our species; if those amorous joys, Those sweets of life, those comforts even in death, Spring from a cause above our reason's reach; If that clear flame deduce its heat from heaven, 'Tis, like its cause, eternal; always one, As in th' instiller of divinest love, Unchanged by time, immortal, maugre death. But, oh! 'tis grown a figment; love, a jest: A comic poesy: the soul of man is rotten, Even to the core, no sound affection. Our love is hollow, vaulted, stands on props Of circumstance, profit, or ambitious passes.
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