The CURE of JEALOUSY

What Tortures can there be in Hell, Compar'd to what fond Lovers feel, When doating on some fair One's Charms, They think she yields 'em to their Rivals Arms?

As Lyons tho' they once were tame, Yet if sharp Wounds their Rage inflame, Lift up their stormy Voices, roar, And tear the Keepers they obey'd before:

So fares the Lover, when his Breast, By jealous Frenzy is possest, Forswears the Nymph for whom he burns; Yet strait to her, whom he forswears, returns.

But when the Fair resolves his Doubt, The Love comes in, the Fear goes out; The Cloud of Jealousy's dispell'd, And the bright Sun of Innocence reveal'd.

With what strange Raptures is he blest! Raptures too great to be exprest. Tho' hard the Torment's to endure, Who would not have the Sickness, for the Cure?