No!
Matilda.
Look not
So sadly. True—you love not Contarini;—
But who among us thinks to wed for love,
When wealth, and rank, and power, and all that’s dear
To woman’s heart, do beckon us to seize them!
Oh! trust me! love’s a bauble, fit to toy with—
But like the shining plaything of the child,
To be thrown by, when riper years bestow