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Give Isaac the nymph who no beauty can boast, But health and good humour to make her his toast; If straight, I don't mind whether slender or fat, And six feet or four--we'll ne'er quarrel for that.

Whate'er her complexion, I vow I don't care; If brown, it is lasting--more pleasing, if fair: And though in her face I no dimples should see, Let her smile--and each dell is a dimple to me.

Let her locks be the reddest that ever were seen, And her eyes may be e'en any colour but green; For in eyes, though so various in l.u.s.tre and hue, I swear I've no choice--only let her have two.

'Tis true I'd dispense with a throne on her back, And white teeth, I own, are genteeler than black; A little round chin too's a beauty, I've heard; But I only desire she mayn't have a beard.

_Don Jer_. You will change your note, my friend, when you've seen Louisa.

_Isaac_. Oh, Don Jerome, the honour of your alliance----

_Don Jer_. Ay, but her beauty will affect you--she is, though I say it who am her father, a very prodigy. There you will see features with an eye like mine--yes, i'faith, there is a kind of wicked sparkling-- sometimes of a roguish brightness, that shows her to be my own.

_Isaac_. Pretty rogue!

_Don Jer_. Then, when she smiles, you'll see a little dimple in one cheek only; a beauty it is certainly, yet, you shall not say which is prettiest, the cheek with the dimple, or the cheek without.

_Isaac_. Pretty rogue!

_Don Jer_. Then the roses on those cheeks are shaded with a sort of velvet down, that gives a delicacy to the glow of health.

_Isaac_. Pretty rogue!

_Don Jer_. Her skin pure dimity, yet more fair, being spangled here and there with a golden freckle.

_Isaac_. Charming pretty rogue! pray how is the tone of her voice?

_Don Jer_. Remarkably pleasing--but if you could prevail on her to sing, you would be enchanted--she is a nightingale--a Virginia nightingale! But come, come; her maid shall conduct you to her antechamber.

_Isaac_. Well, egad, I'll pluck up resolution, and meet her frowns intrepidly.

_Don Jer_. Ay! woo her briskly--win her, and give me a proof of your address, my little Solomon.

_Isaac_. But hold--I expect my friend Carlos to call on me here. If he comes, will you send him to me?

_Don Jer_. I will. Lauretta!--[_Calls_.]--Come--she'll show you to the room. What! do you droop? here's a mournful face to make love with!

[_Exeunt_.]

SCENE II.--DONNA LOUISA'S _Dressing-Room_.

_Enter_ ISAAC _and_ MAID.

_Maid_. Sir, my mistress will wait on you presently.

[_Goes to the door_.]

_Isaac_. When she's at leisure--don't hurry her.--[_Exit_ MAID.]--I wish I had ever practised a love-scene--I doubt I shall make a poor figure--I couldn't be more afraid if I was going before the Inquisition. So, the door opens--yes, she's coming--the very rustling of her silk has a disdainful sound.

_Enter_ DUENNA _dressed_ as DONNA LOUISA.

Now dar'n't I look round, for the soul of me--her beauty will certainly strike me dumb if I do. I wish she'd speak first.

_Duen_. Sir, I attend your pleasure.

_Isaac_. [_Aside_.] So! the ice is broke, and a pretty civil beginning too!--[_Aloud_.] Hem! madam--miss--I'm all attention.

_Duen_. Nay, sir, 'tis I who should listen, and you propose.

_Isaac_. [_Aside_.] Egad, this isn't so disdainful neither--I believe I may venture to look. No--I dar'n't--one glance of those roguish sparklers would fix me again.

_Duen_. You seem thoughtful, sir. Let me persuade you to sit down.

_Isaac_. [_Aside_.] So, so; she mollifies apace--she's struck with my figure! this att.i.tude has had its effect.

_Duen_. Come, sir, here's a chair.

_Isaac_. Madam, the greatness of your goodness overpowers me--that a lady so lovely should deign to turn her beauteous eyes on me so.

[_She takes his hand, he turns and sees her_.]

_Duen_. You seem surprised at my condescension.

_Isaac_. Why, yes, madam, I am a little surprised at it.--[_Aside_.]

Zounds! this can never be Louisa--she's as old as my mother!

_Duen_. But former prepossessions give way to my father's commands.

_Isaac_. [_Aside_.] Her father! Yes, 'tis she then.--Lord, Lord; how blind some parents are!

_Duen_. Signor Isaac!

_Isaac_. [_Aside_.] Truly, the little damsel was right--she has rather a matronly air, indeed! ah! 'tis well my affections are fixed on her fortune, and not her person.

_Duen_. Signor, won't you sit? [_She sits_.]

_Isaac_. Pardon me, madam, I have scarce recovered my astonishment at your condescension, madam.--[_Aside_.] She has the devil's own dimples, to be sure!

_Duen_. I do not wonder, sir, that you are surprised at my affability-- I own, signor, that I was vastly prepossessed against you, and, being teased by my father, I did give some encouragement to Antonio; but then, sir, you were described to me as quite a different person.

_Isaac_. Ay, and so you were to me, upon my soul, madam.