At length she rose to go: like the ev’ning star
Went with the ev’ning; which, how short, say love
Who’d spin each golden moment to a year,
Which year would then seem than a moment less.
Ar. Is then, my lord, this passion so deep fixt?
Prince. Nay, but of one day’s growth—
Ar. I come in time then.
My lord, in one word, if you love Don Cesar,
Cease to love Donna Anna.
Prince. Arias,