“Nay—he hath my love!”
“A king should have thy love; those pretty lips, those eyes, those little fingers, were not made for clowns.”
“Nay—but I love him!”
“And I love thee. A poor home, and a poor husband—is this thy lot? See away there, ’tis my house, ’tis my palace. I love thee, I love thee. Wilt thou be my wife, Zerlina?”
“Choose between us, Masetto or Don Juan.”
“I—I, then, a great lady. Yet, Masetto.”
“Come my love, come, my love.”
But the don started and turned pale, for as he made a step forward with the simple little Zerlina, there was standing Donna Elvira.
“Thou seest,” he said rapidly, before she could speak, “I am but toying with her simplicity, I mean no harm.”