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—