Xim. Father! look up!
Turn unto me, thy child!
Gon. Thy face is fair;
And hath been unto me, in other days,
As morning to the journeyer of the deep?
But now—’tis too like hers!
Elm. (falling at his feet.) Woe, shame and woe,
Are on me in their might! Forgive! forgive!
Gon. (starting up.) Doth the Moor deem that I have part or share
Or counsel in his vileness? Stay me not!