Decreed that they must perish? Who shall say
If in yon Moslem camp there beats no heart
Which prayers and tears may melt?
Her. There!—with the Moor!
Let him fill up the measure of his guilt!
—’Tis madness all! How wouldst thou pass th’ array
Of armèd foes?
Elm. Oh! free doth sorrow pass,
Free and unquestion’d, through a suffering world![275]
Her. This must not be. Enough of woe is laid