Let me not think. Hortensia, on thy duty,
Suffer no breath like this to pass thy lips:
I will not taint my noble father's honour,
By vile suspicions, suck'd from nature's dregs,
And the loose, ravings of distemper'd fancy.
Countess. Yet, Oh, decline this challenge!
Count. That, hereafter.
Mean time, prepare my daughter to receive
A husband of my choice. Should Godfrey come,
(Strife might be so prevented) bid her try