What wretched thoughts disturb my breast;
Deprive me of my daily rest;
Destroy my equanimity!
'Tell me, can this be jealousy?'

Why is it that I hate to see
My neighbours in prosperity?
Why am I fill'd with misery?
'Tell me, can this be jealousy?'

Does this incline me to traduce,
To envy, slander, and abuse?
Make mountains, when they mole-hills be?
'Tell me, is not this jealousy?'

To e'en suspect, to e'en believe,
That ev'ry person will deceive,
And do some secret injury—
'Tell me, is this not jealousy?'

By inuendoes stab, beguile
A friend, yet meet him with a smile,
And make him think I'm open, free—
'Tell me, is this not jealousy?'

Oh! cruel monster, I'm thy slave—
The more I have, the more I crave; I envy ev'ry one I see—
This—this is surely 'jealousy.'