Was ’t this you hoped?
Alv. No, Serafina, but—
Ser. But what?
Alv. And yet perhaps ’twas that I hoped—
The very desperation of my act
Bringing its pardon with it, soon or late,
Seeing the very element of love
Is rashness, that he finds his best excuse
In having none at all. Ah, Serafina,
How greatly must he love, who all for love