Besides,—
Ser. Can there be any thing besides?
Juan. ’Tis said that fire and light, and air and snow,
Cannot be painted; how much less a face
Where they are so distinct, yet so compounded,
As needs must drive the artist to despair!
I’ll give it up.——(Throws away his brushes, etc.)
The light begins to fail too.
And Serafina, pray remember this,
If, tempted ever by your loveliness,