Carl. [Aside.] Ay, in a bag of money; I see it to my sorrow.—Try his wit, signior, you'll find it as heavy as lead. [Aside to Lopez.
Lop. [To Sancho.] So his money be silver, I care not.—Come, cavalier, what say you to my daughter?
San. Why, I say, I was resolved to love the first fair lady that I met.
Dal. Oh lord, sir!
Carl. [To Lop.] Do but mark his breeding.
Lop. I like him never the worse for his plain dealing.
Dal. Bluntness, methinks, becomes a soldier.
Carl. [Aside.] How naturally old men take to riches, and women to fools!
Lop. [To San.] You have made a noble declaration of your love, sir, with a handsome present of two hundred pistoles.
San. What, I hope I have not mistaken papers, and sent you my letter of exchange for two hundred pistoles, charged upon the banker Porto Carrero? Pray return that letter, madam, and I'll look out for another, that shall treat only of dry love, without those terrible appendixes.