What need of wit? What need of wile?
— I know your eyes are killing;
But oh! he isn't worth a smile
— Who isn't worth a shilling!
And yet, by all the gods of rhyme,
— And by your lips I swear,
Though all my love is loss of time
— And all my hope despair,
The glittering stream shall cease to stray,
— The wind refuse to rove,
All solid things shall melt away,
— Before I cease to love!

Fair Freedom shall be found in Quod,
— Stern Justice in the Quorum,
Carlile shall praise the grace of God,
— John Bull shall learn decorum,
Loyal addresses shall omit
— " Our fortunes and our lives,"
The Commons shall be famed for wit,
— The Lords for virtuous wives,
The Tenth shall dress without a glass
— Or dine with one remove,
All monstrous things shall come to pass
— Before I cease to love.

Young widowhood shall lose its weeds,
— Old kings shall loathe the Tories,
And monks be tired of telling beads,
— And blues of telling stories;
And titled suitors shall be crossed,
— And famished poets married,
And Canning's motion shall be lost
— And Hume's amendment carried,
And Chancery shall cease to doubt,
— And Algebra to prove,
And hoops come in, and gas go out,
— Before I cease to love.

And Peel shall sink his Popery-cry,
— And Buxton lay his plans down,
And Bankes shall vote with honesty,
— And Liverpool with Lansdowne;
And hungry knights shall lose their steak
— And never talk of pairing,
And county members keep awake
— Through half an hour of Baring;
And not a soul shall go to grin
— When Martin goes to move,
And Mr. Cobbett shall get in,
— Before I cease to love!

Good sense shall go to Parliament,
— The tithe shall be abated,
A Papist shall be innocent,
— A slave emancipated,
A French gallant shall break his heart,
— A Spanish Count his fetters,
A fortune-teller trust her art,
— A Radical his betters;
A pretty face shall like a veil,
— A pretty hand a glove,
And Reason win, and bribery fail,
— Before I cease to love.

In short, the world shall all go mad,
— And saints shall take to masquing,
And kisses and estates be had
— For nothing but the asking;
And beauty shall be ugliness,
— And ocean shall be dry,
And passion shall be passionless
— And truth itself a lie,
And " Stars" shall cease to shine below,
— And stars to shine above,
And Cunningham be left for Lowe,
— Before I cease to love.