Classic Poem

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 them to their rival's arms.

As lions, though 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 straight 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.
Though hard the torment's to endure,
Who would not have the sickness for the cure.