Teresa (clinging to him.)
No, my father!
Veniero.
Who bade thee seek me? Let me look on thee,
Thy cheek is wet with tears. Nay, dry them girl—
Let them not flow for me. True, I can give
Poor welcome; yet thy loveliness breaks in
Upon my prison’s gloom, like the fresh light
Of morning to the hopeless. Weep not for me!
Why—foolish child! will tears undo these bars?