Classic Poem

O Jealousie, that art
The Canker of the heart:
And mak'st all hell
Where thou do'st dwell;
For pitie be
No Furie, or no Fire-brand to me.

Farre from me Ile remove
All thoughts of irksome Love:
And turn to snow,
Or Christall grow;
To keep still free
(O! Soul-tormenting Jealousie,) from Thee.