Jealousy

Great are the griefs which in my absence move,
And still my Jealousy torments my Love.
Tho' I my self must ne'er thy Charms possess,
'Tis Death to think you should another bless.
O let my Rival's flames be ne'er return'd,
'Tis Hell enough that I in vain have burn'd,
For envy rages in a Passion scorn'd.
Now, now perhaps some fav'rite Youth is blest,
And clasps thee panting to his ravish'd breast.
Hark, how he speaks, and sighs! —
He Kneels, and Bows, and languishes the rest.