Mortal Iealousie

BEgon, O thou distracting Care,
Partner of Sorrow, and Despair!
Thy Poyson spreads to ev'ry Part
Of this my poor tormented Heart.

If it be false, with which of late,
Thou hast disturb'd my quiet State,
Why, to affright me, would'st thou bring
So well compos'd a Monstrous Thing?

But if with Truth thou would'st delight,
To clear my long deluded Sight,
Under that Vail does Falshood lye,
'Tis Death thou bring'st, not Jealousie.