Morpheus thou gentle god of soft repose,
The unruly tumults of my mind compose,
Allay the fury of my anxious care, 
Drive hence black thoughts and chase away despair. 

Here let indulgent fancy soothe my pain,
Here let me sleep and never wake again. 
What's this I feel; what's this within my breast
Strikes such alarms and will not let me rest? 
'Tis jealousy, tormenting jealousy, the bane of love. 

I rage, I rave, my soul on fire, 
Tortured with wild despair and fierce desire.
My Strephon's loss I cannot, will not bear; 
I'll be revenged and more; no more than woman dare. 

Death, only death can now my thoughts employ:
I must my rival or myself destroy.