“And then he’ll die of hunger and misery;” addressed generally to the surrounding landscape.
“Either of hunger or love, what matters it, Adina?”
“Well, well. He is modest, which Sergeant Belcore certainly is NOT. This Nemorino don’t presume, and I never shall love him.”
“But why—why, Adina?”
“He might as well ask the wind why it loveth to go this way or that, over brook or field.”
“Then I ought?”
“Then he ought to think no more about me.”
“But I cannot, Adina.”
“But why?”
“You might as well ask the river why it flows to the sea.”