[Exit Fabian. 

Fabian

   His sanctity, and reverend character,

   His pious eloquence, made engines for me,

   Might save a world of anguish to my soul,

   And smooth my unwelcome purpose to Hortensia.

   But how prevail with him?—Ambition?—No;

   The world is dead in him, and gold is trash

   To one, who neither needs, nor values it.

   Interest and love shall wear the guise of conscience;

   I must pretend nice scruples, which I feel not,

   And make him mediate for me with the church.

   Yet he reveres the countess; and, I fear,

   Will spy more sin, in doubts that wound her quiet,

   Than in my stifling them. But see, she comes,

   With downcast eye, and sad, dejected mien.

   I will not yet disclose it.

 Enter the Countess. 

Countess

   Where's my child,

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