Poems upon several occasions with, A voyage to the island of love / by Mrs. A. Behn.

JEALOUSIE.

I.

A Palace that is more un-easy far, Then those of cruelty and absence are, There constant show'rs of Hail and Rains do flow, Continual Murmuring VVinds a-round do blow, Eternal Thunder rowling in the Air, And thick dark hanging Clouds the day obscure; Whose sullen dawn all Objects multiplies, And render things that are not, to the Eyes. Fantoms appear by the dull gloomy light, That with such subtil Art delude the sight, That one can see no Object true or right.

I here transported and impatient grow And all things out of order do; Hasty and peevish every thing I say, Suspicion and distrust's my Passions sway, And bend all Nature that un-easy way.

II.

A thousand Serpents gnaw the Heart; A thousand Visions fill the Eyes, Aud Deaf to all that can relief impart, We hate the Counsel of the Wise, And Sense like Tales of Lunaticks despise: Faithless, as Couzen'd Maids, by Men undone, And obstinate as new Religion, As full of Error, and false Notion too, As Dangerous, and as Politick; As Humerous as a Beauty without Wit; As Vain and Fancyful in all we do: —Thus Wreck the Soul, as if it did conceal, Love Secrets which by torturing 'two'd reveal.

Restless and wild, ranging each Field and Grove; I meet the Author of my painful Love; But still surrounded with a numerous Train Of Lovers, whom Love taught to Sigh and Fawn, At my approach, my Soul all Trembling flies, And tells its soft Resentment at my Eyes: My Face all pale, my steps unsteady fall, And faint Confusion spreads it self o're all. I listen to each low breath'd Word she says, And the returns the happy Answerer pays: When catching half the Sense, the rest Invent, And turn it still to what will most Torment; If any thing by Whispers she impart, 'Tis Mortal, 'tis a Dagger at my Heart; And every Smile, each Motion, Gesture, Sign, In favour of some Lover I explain: When I am absent, in some Rivals Arms, I Fancy she distributes all her Charms, And if alone I find her; sighing cry, Some happier Lover she expects than I.

So that I did not only Jealous grow, Of all I saw; but all I fancy'd too.