Falk monologue — Love's Comedy

Yes, to pass current here, Love must have cross'd The great Siberian waste of regulations, Fann'd by no breath of ocean to its cost; It must produce official attestations From friend and kindred, devils of relations, From church curators, organist and clerk, And other fine folks--over and above The primal licence which God gave to Love.-- And then the last great point of likeness;--mark How heavily the hand of culture weighs Upon that far Celestial domain; Its power is shatter'd, and its wall decays, The last true Mandarin's strangled; hands profane Already are put forth to share the spoil; Soon the Sun's realm will be a legend vain, An idle tale incredible to sense; The world is gray in gray--we've flung the soil On buried Faery,--then where can Love be found? Alas, Love also is departed hence! [Lifts his cup. Well let him go, since so the times decree;-- A health to Amor, late of Earth,--in tea! [He drains his cup; indignant murmurs amongst the company.