Deluded?
Hieronimo.
Ay, I would have sworn myself, within this hour,
That this had been my son Horatio,
His garments are so like: ha! are they not great persuasions?
Isabella.
O, would to God it were not so!
Hieronimo.
Were not, Isabella? dost thou dream it is?
Can thy soft bosom entertain a thought,
That such a black deed of mischief should be done
On one so pure and spotless as our son?
Away, I am asham'd.
Isabella.
Dear Hieronimo,
Cast a more serious eye upon thy grief,
Weak apprehension gives but weak belief.