This day, this happy match with Isabel

   Had made our line perpetual; and, this day,

   The unfruitful grave receives him. Yes, 'tis fate!

   That dreadful denunciation 'gainst my house,

   No prudence can avert, nor prayers can soften.

 Fab. Think not on that; some visionary's dream.

   What house, what family could e'er know peace,

   If such enthusiast's ravings were believ'd,

   And phrensy deem'd an insight of the future?

   But may I dare to ask, is it of moment

   To stir your anger thus, that Isabel

   Has left the castle?

 Count. Of the deepest moment:

   My best hope hangs on her; some future time,

   I may instruct thee why.—These cares unhinge me:

   Just now, a herald from her angry father

   Left me this dire election—to resign

[pg 9]

[pg 9]

   My titles, and this ample signory,

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