Ballad—in the Chelsea Pensioner

When well one knows to love and please, What distresses can one prove, What can rob that heart of ease Possess'd of pleasure, rich in love?

Alas! without this sovereign good, Whose power no emperor can stay, Riches, rank, or noble blood, Honours, titles, what are they?

One tender look's to lovers worth More treasure than the Indies own; Smiles are the empire of the earth, The arms of those we love a throne.