Isaac. Why now, seriously, Don Jerome, do you think your daughter handsome?

Don Jer. By this light, she’s as handsome a girl as any in Seville.

Isaac. Then, by these eyes, I think her as plain a woman as ever I beheld.

Don Jer. By St. Iago! you must be blind.

Isaac. No, no; ’tis you are partial.

Don Jer. How! have I neither sense nor taste? If a fair skin, fine eyes, teeth of ivory, with a lovely bloom, and a delicate shape—if these, with a heavenly voice and a world of grace, are not charms, I know not what you call beautiful.

Isaac. Good lack, with what eyes a father sees! As I have life, she is the very reverse of all this: as for the dimity skin you told me of, I swear ’tis a thorough nankeen as ever I saw! for her eyes, their utmost merit is not squinting—for her teeth, where there is one of ivory, its neighbour is pure ebony, black and white alternately, just like the keys of a harpsichord. Then, as to her singing, and heavenly voice—by this hand, she has a shrill, cracked pipe, that sounds for all the world like a child’s trumpet.

Don Jer. Why, you little Hebrew scoundrel, do you mean to insult me? Out of my house, I say!

Don Ferd. [Coming forward.] Dear sir, what’s the matter?

Don Jer. Why, this Israelite here has the impudence to say your sister’s ugly.

Don Ferd. He must be either blind or insolent.

Isaac. So, I find they are all in a story. Egad, I believe I have gone too far!

[Aside.

Don Ferd. Sure, sir, there must be some mistake; it can’t be my sister whom he has seen.

Don Jer. ’Sdeath! you are as great a fool as he! What mistake can there be? Did not I lock up Louisa, and haven’t I the key in my own pocket? and didn’t her maid show him into the dressing-room? and yet you talk of a mistake! No, the Portuguese meant to insult me—and, but that this roof protects him, old as I am, this sword should do me justice.

Isaac. I must get off as well as I can—her fortune is not the less handsome.

[Aside.

Duet.

Isaac.	Believe me, good sir, I ne’er meant to offend;
	My mistress I love, and I value my friend:
	To win her and wed her is still my request,
	For better for worse—and I swear I don’t jest.
Don Jer.	Zounds! you’d best not provoke me, my rage is so high!
Isaac.	Hold him fast, I beseech you, his rage is so high?
	Good sir, you’re too hot, and this place I must fly.
Don Jer.	You’re a knave and a sot, and this place you’d best fly.

Isaac. Don Jerome, come now, let us lay aside all joking, and be serious.

Don Jer. How?

Isaac. Ha! ha! ha! I’ll be hanged if you haven’t taken my abuse of your daughter seriously.

Don Jer. You meant it so, did not you?