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I long to talk with some old lover's ghost
Who died before the god of love was born
I cannot think that he, who then loved most
Sunk so low as to love one which did scorn
But since this god produced a destiny
And that vice-nature, custom, let it be
I must love her that loves not me

But every god of love will now extend
His vast prerogative as far above
To reach, to lust, to fight, to defend
The territory of this god of love
O! were we waken'd by this tyranny
Ungod this child again it would not be
I should love her, who loves not me

I long to talk I long to feel love
I sank so low to love her scorn
To reach, to lust, to fight to defend
To die before this god was born