Lady.—As agreeable as Toro! Vaya, vaya! Were you ever in the prison of Toro, Sir Cavalier?
Myself.—I have never had that honour; the prison is generally the last place which I think of visiting.
Lady.—See the difference of tastes: I have been to see the prison of Valladolid, and it seems as tiresome as the town.
Myself.—Of course, if grief and tediousness exist anywhere, you will find them in the prison.
Lady.—Not in that of Toro.
Myself.—What does that of Toro possess to distinguish it from all others?
Lady.—What does it possess? Vaya! Am I not the carcelera? Is not my husband the alcayde? [300b] Is not that son of mine a child of the prison?
Myself.—I beg your pardon, I was not aware of that circumstance; it of course makes much difference.
Lady.—I believe you. I am a daughter of that prison: my father was alcayde, and my son might hope to be so, were he not a fool.
Myself.—His countenance, then, belies him strangely. I should be loth to purchase that youngster for a fool.