Tixall Poetry/The Jealous Lover

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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.
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