The Fatal Jealousie (1673) | Page 4

Servant To Gerardo. Mr. Norris. Captain of the Watch. Mr. _Nath. Leigh_. Souldiers.
Women.
_C?lia_. Wife to Antonio. Mrs. Shadwel. Eugenia. Sister to _C?lia_. Mrs. Betterton. Flora. Waiting Woman to _C?lia_. Mrs. Osborn. Nurse To _C?lia_. Mr. Nokes. Witch. Aunt to Jasper. Mrs. Norris. Spirits. Gipsies.

PROLOGUE
By Mr. Smith.
_To you, great Sovereign Wits, that have such sway, Without Controul to save, or damn a Play; That with a pish, my Anthony, or so, Can the best Rally'd sence at once or'e throw; And by this pow'r, that none must question now, Have made the most Rebellious Writers bow, Our Author, here his low Submission brings, Begging your pass, calls you the Stages Kings; He sayes, nay, on a Play-Book, swears it too, Your pox uppo'nt damn it, what's here to do? Your nods, your winks, nay, your least signs of Wit, Are truer Reason than e're Poet writ, And he observes do much more sway the Pit. For sitting there h' has seen the lesser gang Of Callow Criticks down their heads to bang; Lending long Ears to all that you should say, So understand, yet never hear the Play: Then in the Tavern swear their time they've lost, And Curse the Poet put e'm to that cost. And if one would their just Exceptions know, They heard such, such, or such a one say so; And thus in time by your dislikes they rise, To be thought Judges, though indeed but spyes. This is not fair your Subjects to betray To those that strive to Rival you in sway; That will in time by your expence of wit, Usurp or'e us, and your successors sit. These and some other dangers to remove, We beg that though this Play you disapprove, Say nothing of it here, and when you're gone, We give that leave you'le take to cry it down; Thus you preserve your pow'r, and we shall be From Fopps, and Demi-Criticks Censure free.
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 _C?lia_ in Morning-Gowns. Chamber and Bed._
_C?l._ 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.
_C?l._ 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