Subdu’d by force, we Tyrants thus obey,
But Ladys, you like lawful Monarches sway,
You Rule by Love, and Pardon faults with ease,
In Subjects that do all they can to please. 
By faction they condemn, you by our Peers,
And he is guilty sure such Trial fears: 
And though our Author pleads not guilty now. 
And to his Tryal stands, he hopes that you,
Will not too strictly his accusers hear,
For if this Play can draw from you a Tear,
He’l slight the Wits, Half-Wits, and Criticks too;
And Judge his strength by his well pleasing you_.

                      The
               Fatal Jealousie.

Act the First.  Scene the First.

The Curtain drawn Discovers Don Antonio_ and Caelia in
Morning-Gowns.  Chamber and Bed._

Cael. My Lord, you well may blame my conduct of that bus’ness,
Since it produc’d such dismal Accidents,
As my heart trembles but to think upon;
Yet for Don Lewis’s Innocence and mine,
In the contrivance of that Fatal Meeting;
I must for ever, during Life, be Champion. 
And, as he with his dying breath protested,
He ne’re meant wrong to you; so am I ready
To dye a Martyr to my Innocence.

Anto. Come, come, these are but wyles to Palliate things,
Can you believe me stupid, or an Ass? 
To think my Wife should meet a Man i’ th’ Night;
Nay, more; a Man that was my seeming Friend;
Yet taken in at Window privately! 
Nay, which was most, stay with him two full hours,
And in a Room made proper by a Bed,
And yet not Cuckold me; the thing’s too plain,
I do not doubt the deed, which Iv’e Reveng’d
In part, by killing him:  No, I am mad,
That you should think so meanly still of me,
As to hope time may alter my belief;
Which is by such unerring Reasons fixt: 
Or else that you suspect my Truth, when I have sworn
By all things sacred; nay upon my Honour
(Which I am so Jealous of) that if you would
Relate the truth of your so close amours,
I from my memory would blot it all,
And look on you at worst, but as the Widdow
Of your dead Couzen Lewis.

Cael. Good my Lord,
Forbear to use these killing Arguments,
Which every moment give me many Deaths,
Rather be like your self, that’s Gen’rous,
And kill me once for all; torment me not
By giving no belief, either to Vows
Or Actions that have spoke my Innocence: 
Reflect (my Lord) on the unwearied pains
Iv’e took to gain your pardon for his Death. 
Think with what patience I’ve suffer’d still
Your often starts of Passion, which sometimes
Have ne’re produc’d th’ effects of Cruelty. 
And without boast, my Lord, you well do know
My Friends were much too strong for yours at Court,
Then had I but made known your severe Carriage,
Or suffer’d your surprizal—­’tis too plain;