JUP. Alas! Your love must have had but little strength, if it can be
killed by so slight a matter! Can a jest divorce us? Is there any
need to be so roused at a trifle?

ALC. Ah! It is just that which offends me: that which my anger
cannot pardon. I should have felt less wounded by the justifiable
transports of a fit of jealousy. Jealousy makes impressions the
force of which oftentimes carries us beyond our control; at such
times the most discreet mind, no doubt, finds it difficult enough to
answer for its deeds. The violence of a heart which may have been
deluded has, in its very delusion, a peace-offering for an aggrieved
soul, and the love that gave birth to its fears, furnishes, in spite
of all its violence, at least some reasons to urge as excuse.
Outbursts such as these ever have love as an excuse against anger:
for love gave birth to them, and we can easily pardon what we cannot control.

But to fly into uncontrollable fury, in gaiety of heart, and so
causelessly and keenly to wound the tenderness and honour of a heart
that dearly loves you, ah! It is too cruel a blow: my grief can
never forget it.

JUP. Yes, you are right, Alcmene; I admit it. This action is
unquestionably an odious crime; I do not pretend to justify it
longer: yet allow my heart to defend itself in your eyes, and let it
reveal to you who is to blame for this insulting fury. To tell you
frankly, it is the husband Alcmene, who has done this wrong; it is
the husband whom you must blame. The lover has no share in this
churlish anger: his heart is not capable of offending you. He has
too much respect and affection for you ever to think of it; had he
been guilty of the crime of doing aught that could wound you, he