Elm. Speak’st thou thus?
—I have knelt before thee with that very plea,
When it avail’d me not! But there are things
Whose very breathings from the soul erase
All record of past love, save the chill sense,
Th’ unquiet memory of its wasted faith,
And vain devotedness! Ay! they that fix
Affection’s perfect trust on aught of earth,
Have many a dream to start from!
Gon. This is but