“To the very death; good.”
“Wouldst not be satisfied with a few broken bones?”
“Talk not to me of broken bones only, he shall soon know of no bones, marry.”
“Thou’rt well armed, friend?”
“A cudgel, sir, i’faith such as shall make a broad-chested man fly before thee; feel not its weight. Oh, oh. My head, mercy o’ my head. My back, wouldst twitter my back to a jelly? Marry, now, ’twas an awful thwack to the elbow; help, oh, oh. See what ’tis to trust people. Help!”
Here the don finding his vicious arm quite weak, stole away in the dark, each of Masetto’s “helps” growing fainter and fainter.
Now little Zerlina had followed her rustic afar off, and when she heard his yells, she came with quite a run to his side. Arrived there, she saw no one near him; but he was still yelling, and rubbing all of his back he could get at.
“Masetto, Masetto, what hast thou?”
“By my faith, what have I not? I am beaten to a jelly!”
“Who hath beaten thee?”