_Don Jer_. Well, if she was but as dutiful as she's handsome--and hark ye, friend Isaac, she is none of your made-up beauties--her charms are of the lasting kind.

_Isaac_. I'faith, so they should--for if she be but twenty now, she may double her age before her years will overtake her face.

_Don Jer_. Why, zounds, Master Isaac! you are not sneering, are you?

_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_. [_Aside_.]So, I find they are all in a story. Egad, I believe I have gone too far!

_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[_Aside_.] must get off as well as I can--her fortune is not the less handsome.

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?

_Isaac_. O mercy, no! a joke--just to try how angry it would make you.

_Don Jer_. Was that all, i'faith? I didn't know you had been such a wag. Ha! ha! ha! By St. Iago! you made me very angry, though. Well, and you do think Louisa handsome?

_Isaac_. Handsome! Venus de Medicis was a sybil to her.

_Don Jer_. Give me your hand, you little jocose rogue! Egad, I thought we had been all off.

_Don Ferd_. [_Aside_.] So! I was in hopes this would have been a quarrel; but I find the Jew is too cunning.

_Don Jer_. Ay, this gust of pa.s.sion has made me dry--I am seldom ruffled. Order some wine in the next room--let us drink the poor girl's health. Poor Louisa! ugly, eh! ha! ha! ha! 'twas a very good joke, indeed!

_Isaac_. [_Aside_.] And a very true one, for all that.

_Don Jer_, And, Ferdinand, I insist upon your drinking success to my friend.

_Don Ferd_. Sir, I will drink success to my friend with all my heart.

_Don Jer_. Come, little Solomon, if any sparks of anger had remained, this would be the only way to quench them.

TRIO.

A b.u.mper of good liquor Will end a contest quicker Than justice, judge, or vicar; So fill a cheerful gla.s.s, And let good humour pa.s.s.

But if more deep the quarrel, Why, sooner drain the barrel Than be the hateful fellow That's crabbed when he's mellow.

A b.u.mper, &c. [_Exeunt_.]

SCENE IV.--ISAAC'S _Lodgings_.

_Enter_ DONNA LOUISA.

_Don. Louisa_. Was ever truant daughter so whimsically circ.u.mstanced as I am? I have sent my intended husband to look after my lover--the man of my father's choice is gone to bring me the man of my own: but how dispiriting is this interval of expectation!

SONG.

What bard, O Time, discover, With wings first made thee move?

Ah! sure it was some lover Who ne'er had left his love!

For who that once did prove The pangs which absence brings, Though but one day He were away, Could picture thee with wings?