Jerome 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.

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

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

Jerome. 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.

Jerome. By St. Iago, you must be blind.

Isaac. No, no; 'tis you are partial.

Jerome. 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,

not what you call beautiful.

know

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

Ferd. Dear Sir, what's the matter?

Jerome. Why, this Israelite here has the impudence to say your sister's ugly.

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!

Ferd. Sure, Sir, there must be some mistake: it can't be my sister whom he has seen.

Jerome. 'Sdeath! you are as great a fool as he! What mistake can there be? Did not I lock up Louisa, and hav'n't I the key in my own pocket? And did'nt her maid shew 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.

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. Jerome. 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.

Jerome. 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.

Jerome. How?

Isaac. Ha! ha! ha! I'll be hang'd if you hav'n't taken my abuse of your daughter seriously. Jerome. You meant it so, did not you?

Isaac. O mercy, no! a joke-just to try how angry

it would make you.

Jerome. Was that all, i'faith? I didn't know you had been such a wag. Ha! ha! ha! By St. Iago! Well, and you do

you made me very angry, though. think Louisa handsome?

Isaac. Handsome! Venus de Medicis was a sybil

to her.

Jerome. Give me your hand, you little jocose rogue. 'Egad, I thought we had been all off.

Ferd. So! I was in hopes this would have been quarrel; but I find the Jew is too cunning.

Jerome. Ay, this gust of passion 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. And a very true one, for all that.

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

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

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

Louisa. Was ever truant daughter so whimsically circumstanced 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!

Enter CARLOS.

So, friend, is Antonio found?

Carlos. I could not meet with him, lady; but I doubt not, my friend Isaac will be here with him presently.

Louisa. Oh, shame! you have used no diligence. Is this your courtesy to a lady, who has trusted herself to your protection?

Carlos. Indeed, madam, I have not been remiss.

Louisa. Well, well; but if either of you had known how each moment of delay weighs upon the heart of her who loves, and waits the object of her love, oh, ye would not then have trifled thus!

Carlos. Alas, I know it well!

Louisa. Were you ever in love, then?

Carlos. I was, lady: but, while I have life, will never be again.

Louisa. Was your mistress so cruel?

Carlos. If she had always been so I should have been happier.

SONG.

O, had my love ne'er smiled on me,
Í ne'er had known such anguish;
But think how false, how cruel she,
To bid me cease to languish-

To bid me hope her hand to gain,
Breathe on a flame half perish'd;
And then, with cold and fix'd disdain,
To kill the hope she cherish'd.

Not worse his fate, who on a wreck,
That drove as winds did blow it,
Silent had left the shatter'd deck,
To find a grave below it.

Then land was cried-no more resign'd,
He glow'd with joy to hear it:
Not worse his fate, his woe, to find

The wreck must sink ere near it.

Louisa. As I live, here is your friend coming with

Antonio. I'll retire for a moment to surprise him.

[Exit.

Enter ISAAC and ANTONIO.

Ant. Indeed, my good friend, you must be mistaken. Clara D'Almanza in love with me, and employ you to bring me to meet her! It is impossible!

Isaac. That you shall see in an instant. Carlos, where is the lady? In the next room, is she?

Ant. Nay, if that lady is really here, she certainly wants me to conduct her to a dear friend of mine, who has long been her lover.

Isaac. Pshaw! I tell you 'tis no such thing. You are the man she wants, and nobody but you. Here's ado to persuade you to take a pretty girl that's dying for you!

Ant. But I have no affection for this lady.

Isaac. And you have for Louisa, eh? but, take my word for it, Antonio, you have no chance there-so you may as well secure the good that offers itself to you.

Ant. And could you reconcile it to your conscience, to supplant your friend?

Isaac. Pish! Conscience has no more to do with gallantry, than it has with politics. Why, you are no honest fellow, if love can't make a rogue of you-so come, do go in, and speak to her, at least.

and

Ant. Well, I have no objection to that. Isaac. [Opens the Door.] There-there she is yonder by the window. Get in, do. [Pushes him in, half shuts the Door.] Now, Carlos, now I shall hamper him, I warrant. Stay, I'll peep how they go on. Egad, he looks confoundedly posed :-now she's coaxing him:-see, Carlos, he begins to come. Ay, ay, he'll soon forget his conscience.

Carlos. Look:-now they are both laughing!

Isaac. Ay, so they are. Yes, yes, they are laughing at that dear friend he talked of. Ay, poor devil they have outwitted him.

Carlos. Now he's kissing her hand.

Isaac. Yes, yes, 'faith, they're agreed;—he's caught, he's entangled. My dear Carlos, we have brought it