Dwells not with pride! Not for a crown,
A regal crown, would I bestow my hand
Where my heart went not herald to the gift!
Veniero.
Ungrateful girl! and may not pleasure dwell
With pomp? Or dost thou deem his years too many?
And know’st not that to such as he, his passion
Is an idolatry? Oh! when time has checked
The blood’s swift current, and made pale the brow
With lofty thought, and blanched stern manhood’s locks,