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On Jealousy.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 


33

On Jealousy.

Beauty was constant Love's reward;
Virtue, his Friend, was Beauty's guard;
No Friend, no Guard, so sure as she,
Till, wrong'd by Love-born Jealousy,
She fled, and to the Monster's care
Resign'd the charge he scorn'd to share:
The Monster, with a hundred eyes,
Was watchful to prevent surprize;
But Beauty bid them close again;
For, Virtue gone, they wak'd in vain;
And Love, undone by what he nurs'd,
His false, unlucky Offspring curs'd:
Virtue, my Friend! too late he cry'd:
He rav'd, he languish'd, and he dy'd.