_Ces._ And having now Arraign’d me of the crime, why do you leave me To plead my exculpation to the winds? O Donna Anna, I call Heav’n to witness ’Twas not my negligence, but my ill star That envied me such ill-deserved delight. If it be otherwise, Or even you _suspect_ it otherwise, Spurn me, not only now, but ever, from you. Since better were it with a conscience clear Rejected, than suspiciously received. The Prince has kept me all the night with him About the city streets: your brother, who Was with us, can bear witness. Yet if still You think me guilty, but come back to say so, And let me plead once more, and you once more Condemn, and yet once more, and all in vain, If you will only but come back again!
_Anna_ (_returning to the window_). And this is true?
_Ces._ So help me Heav’n, it is! Why, could you, Anna, in your heart believe I could forget you?
_Anna._ And, Don Cesar, you That, were it so, I could forget my love? But see, the sun above the mountain-tops Begins to peep, and morn to welcome him With all her smiles and tears. We must begone. I shall another quick occasion find, When I shall call, and you—not lag behind?
_Ces._ Oh once more taken to your heart again, My shame turns glory, and delight my pain. Yet tell me—
_Ces._ Of your suspicions _one_ Lingers within you?
_Anna._ Ay, a legion, That at your presence to their mistress’ pride Turn traitors, and all fight on Cesar’s side!
_Ces._ Farewell then, my divine implacable!
_Anna._ Victim and idol of my eyes, farewell!
_Laz._ Well, and what has my mistress to say to me? Does she also play the scornful lady?
_Laz._ Because my mistress’ mistress does so to my master whose love I follow in shadow.
_Laz._ When he’s happy then I’m jolly; When he’s sad I’m melancholy: When he’s love-infected, I With the self-same fever fretted, Either am bound like him to fry, Or if he chooses to forget it, I must even take his cue, And, Elvira, forget you. Do you enact your lady. Now, Begin. Be angry first—
_Laz._ Hide up, no matter how or why, Behind the window-blind, while I Underneath it caterwaul;—
_The PRINCE and DON FELIX, discovered at the back of the stage._
_Prince._ Not sad, Don Felix: Oh would it were some certain shape of sorrow That I might grapple with, not a vague host Of undefined emotions! Oh how oft The patching up of but a single seam Opens a hundred others! Lucky he, Who can to disenchantment bare his eyes Once and for all, and in oblivion Shut up vain hope for ever!