For all your angel goodness, now can move you,
Oh, for my sake (lest quite you break my heart)
Wear but a little outside show of comfort;
A while pretend it, though you feel it not,
And I will bless you for deceiving me.
Countess. I know 'tis weakness—folly, to be mov'd thus;
And these, I hope, are my last tears for him.
Alas, I little knew, deluded wretch!
His riotous fancy glow'd with Isabel;
That not a thought of me possess'd his mind,