Tixall Poetry/The Jealous Lover
LXXII.
The Jealous Lover.
Forgive me, if your looks I thought Did once some change discover;To be too jelous is the fault Of every tender lover.
My truth those kind reproches show, Which you blame so severely:A signe, alas! you little know, What 'tis to love sincerely.
The torments of a long dispair I did in silence smother, But 'tis a paine I can not bear, To think you love another.
My fate depends alone on you, I am but what you make me;Divinely blest if you prove true, Undone if you forsake me.