“She yieldeth now. By my faith, I would I had such a deft tongue i’ my head. She hath left the window.”
“Friend Leporello, dost thou not admire me?”
“Master, if thou comest not from heaven, of a surety I know thy cradle—’tis below, master, ’tis below!”
“Now remember thee of this. When she cometh out, smother her in thy arms. Speak as I speak, yet not fine like a woman. Then deftly discourse her away.”
“Good. But if she find me out?”
“Then hadst thou best scarify thyself.”
“Good. My faith, a pretty posture mine. I will leave this master. I will leave him.”
Here the luckless lady came from the house.
“Nay Juan, did I ever think my sorrow would melt thy heart. Thou dost, then, repent thee of thy desertion?”
“Aye, do I.”