Has Recha, then, made no impression on you,
Or made too deep a one, perchance? Oh yes!
Too deep--too deep! You are a hapless bird
Whose fluttering wing the fatal twig has limed,
Confess it, plainly, with a word, you love--
Love her to madness, and I'll tell you then----
TEMPLAR.
To madness? Ah! you understand it well.
DAJA.
Well, grant the love, the madness I'll resign.