In wordy compliment.

 Countess. Alas! where is she?

   Till now I scarce had power to think of her;

   But 'tis the mournful privilege of grief,

   To stand excus'd from kind observances,

   Which else, neglected, might be deem'd offence.

 Aust. She dwells in sanctuary at Saint Nicholas':

   Why she took refuge there——

 Count. Retire, Hortensia.

   I would have private conference with Austin,

   No second ear must witness.

 Countess. May I not,

   By this good man, solict her return?

 Count. Another time; it suits not now.—Retire.

 [Exit Countess. 

Countess

   You come commission'd from fair Isabel?

 Aust. I come commission'd from a greater power,

   The Judge of thee, and Isabel, and all.

   The offer of your hand in marriage to her,

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