Prince (reading). ‘I am secretly driven to madness about the marriage that never shall take place. All is fair for you, though perdition to me. Believe me I shall not survive it, that Donna Anna—I can write no more.’
Was this what I dictated?
Ces. (throwing himself at the Prince’s feet). O my lord,
O noble Alexander! if the service
You have so often praised beyond desert
Deserve of you at all, snatch not from me
The only crown I ever ask’d for it,
To gild a less familiar brow withal.
This lady, Donna Anna,
Whom you are now devoting to another,