Madness of crime? And He who made us, knows
There are dark moments of all hearts and lives,
Which bear down reason!
Gon. Thou, whom I have loved
With such high trust as o’er our nature threw
A glory scarce allow’d—what hast thou done?
—Ximena, go thou hence!
Elm. No, no! my child!
There’s pity in thy look! All other eyes
Are full of wrath and scorn! Oh, leave me not!