Or the wing’d bark to youth, that his free course
May be o’er hills and seas; and weep thou not
In thy forsaken home, for the bright world
Lies all before him, and be sure he wastes
No thought on thee!
Elm. Not so! it is not so!
Thou dost but torture me! My sons are kind,
And brave, and gentle.
Her. Others, too, have worn
The semblance of all good. Nay, stay thee yet;