I do not weep, or, if I do, ’tis but
My eyes,—no more, no deeper.
Alv. Is ’t possible you can so readily
Turn warm compassion into cold disdain!
And are your better pulses so controll’d
By a cold heart, that, to enhance the triumph
Over the wretched victim of your eyes,
You make the fount of tears to stop or flow
Just as you please? If so, teach me the trick,
As the last courtesy you will vouchsafe me.