The cloud you long have seen on Cesar’s brow,
Is not, as he would have you think it, born
Of bookish studies only, but a cloud,
All bright within, though dark to all without,
Of love for one he has for two long years
Silently worshipt.
Prince. Donna Anna!
Ar. Ay.
Prince. Cesar loves Donna Anna! be it so—
I love him, as you say, and would forgo