Ar. You desire it. (Reads.)
‘To confess that one is loved is to confess that one loves too; for there is no woman but loves to be loved. But alas, there is yet more. If to cover my love I have pretended disdain, let the shame of now confessing it excuse me. Come to me this evening and I will tell you what I can scarce understand myself. Adieu, my love, adieu!’ Your hands are full indeed of happy business.
Ces. Enough: you know what you shall tell the Prince
In my behalf: if he be satisfied
I’ll wait on him directly.
Ar. Trust to me.
Ces. Let my sighs help thee forward, O thou sun,
What of thy race in heaven remains to run:
Oh do but think that Dafne in the west
Awaits thee, and anticipate thy rest!