But can I hold in horror this ill deed,
And dress my brow in false approving smiles?
No: could I carry lightning in my eye,
Or roll a voice like thunder in your ears,
So should I suit my utterance to my thoughts,
And act as fits my sacred ministry.
Count. O father! did you know the conflict here;
How love and conscience are at war within me;
Most sure, you would not treat my grief thus harshly.