That conversation sweet, where such high comforts be:
As constru’d in true speech; the name of heaven it beares:
Makes me in my best thoughts and quiet judgements see,
That in no more but these I might be fully blest:
Yet ah, my maiden Muse doth blush to tell the best.
Oh how the pleasant ayres of true love bee
Inflicted by those vapours, which arise
From out that noysome gulfe: which gaping lies
Betweene the jawes of hellish Jelousey.
A Monster, others harmes, selfe misery.