Dal. I wish it were no worse.
Carl. Plague, ye make me mad betwixt ye. His outside's tawdry, and his inside's fool. He's an usurer's son, and his father was a Jew.
Dal. No matter for all that, he's rich.
Carl. He was begot upon the wife of a desperate debtor, out of pure good husbandry, to save something. He's covetous by the father's side, a blockhead by the mother's, and a knave by both.
Lop. I see nothing like your description of him, at this distance. Call him hither, I would fain speak with him.
Carl. Come hither, Don Sancho, and make good the character I have given of you.
[Sancho comes up, and salutes them awkwardly.
Lop. Cavalier, I shall be glad to be better known to you.
San. [To Carl.] You see I have luck in a bag, Carlos.