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The Jealous Lovers

Randolph, Thomas (1605-1635)
  
THE JEALOUS LOVERS.
  
[epigraph]
  
[dedication]
  
To that compleat and noble Knight, Sir Kenellam Digbie.
  
To the truely noble Knight Sir Christopher Hatton.
  
To his honoured Friend, Mr. Anthony Stafford.
  
Colendissimo viro, & juris municipalis peritissimo, Magistro Richardo Lane.
  
To his deare friend, Thomas Riley.
  
Amico suo charissimo, ingeniosissimo, T. Randolpho, liberum de ejus Comœdia judicium.
  
To his dearest friend the Author, after he had revised his Comedie.
  
To his deare friend Mr. Thomas Randolph, on his Comedy called, The Jealous Lovers.
  
To his ingenuous friend, the Author, concerning his Comedy.
  
[castlist]
  
[section]

collapse section1. 
ACTUS I.
 1. 
SCENA I.
 2. 
SCEN. II.
 3. 
SCEN. III.
 4. 
SCEN. IIII.
 5. 
SCEN. V.
 6. 
SCEN. VI.
 7. 
SCEN. VII.
 8. 
SCEN. VIII.
 9. 
SCEN. IX.
 10. 
SCEN. X.
collapse section2. 
ACTUS II.
 1. 
SCEN. I.
 2. 
SCEN. II.
 3. 
SCEN. III.
 4. 
SCEN. IIII.
 5. 
SCEN. V.
 6. 
SCEN. VI.
 7. 
SCEN. VII.
 8. 
SCEN. VIII.
 9. 
SCEN. IX.
 10. 
SCEN. X.
 11. 
SCEN. XI.
 12. 
SCEN. XII.
 13. 
SCEN. XIII.
collapse section3. 
ACTUS III.
 1. 
SCEN. I.
 2. 
SCEN. II.
 3. 
SCEN. III.
 4. 
SCEN. IIII.
 5. 
SCEN. III.
 6. 
SCEN. VI.
 7. 
SCEN. VII.
 8. 
SCEN. VIII.
 9. 
SCEN. IX.
 10. 
SCEN. X.
 2. 
SCEN. II.
 12. 
SCEN. XII.
 13. 
SCEN. XIII.
 14. 
SCEN. XIIII.
collapse section4. 
ACTUS IIII.
 1. 
SCEN. I.
 2. 
SCEN. II.
 3. 
SCEN. III.
 4. 
SCEN. IIII.
 5. 
SCEN. V.
 6. 
SCEN. VI.
 7. 
SCEN. VII.
 8. 
SCEN. VIII.
 9. 
SCEN. IX.
collapse section5. 
ACTUS V.
 1. 
SCEN. I.
 2. 
SCEN. II.
 3. 
SCEN. III.
 4. 
SCEN. IIII.
 5. 
SCEN. V.
 6. 
SCEN. VI.
 7. 
SCEN. VIII.
 8. 
SCEN. VIII.
 9. 
SCEN. IX.

  
Epilogus.
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SCEN. XII.

Pamphilus, Tyndarus, Techmessa, Evadne.
Pam.
Take comfort, Lady.
Your honour stands safe on his guard, while I
Can use a sword.

Evad.
You have confirmed me, Sir.

Tyn.
How close they winde, like glutinous snakes ingendring,

Tech.
Well sister, I shall study to requite
This courteous treachery.

Evad.
Pamphilus, in me
All starres conspire to make affliction perfect.

Pam.
Wait on heavens pleasure, Madam: such a one
The heavens ne're made for misery, they but give you
These crosses as sharp sauce to whet your appetite
For some choice banquet. Or they mean to lead you
Through a vault dark and obscure as hell,
To make your paradise a sweeter prospect.
—Thus I feed
Others with hopes, while mine own wounds do bleed.

Exeunt Evadne, Pamphilus.
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