—I can endure it! But no gentle words!
No words of love! no praise! Thy sword might slay,
And be more merciful!
Gon. Wherefore art thou thus?
Elmina, my beloved!
Elm. No more of love!
—Have I not said there’s that within my heart,
Whereon it falls as living fire would fall
Upon an unclosed wound?
Gon. Nay, lift thine eyes,