Don. Louisa. Though at the same time the fool predominates so much over the knave, that I am told he is generally the dupe of his own art.
Don Ferd. True; like an unskilful gunner, he usually misses his aim, and is hurt by the recoil of his own piece.
Don Jer. Anything more?
Don. Louisa. To sum up all, he has the worst fault a husband can have—he's not my choice.
Don Jer. But you are his; and choice on one side is sufficient—two lovers should never meet in marriage—be you sour as you please, he is sweet-tempered; and for your good fruit, there's nothing like ingrafting on a crab.
Don. Louisa. I detest him as a lover, and shall ten times more as a husband.
Don Jer. I don't know that-marriage generally makes a great change— but, to cut the matter short, will you have him or not?
Don. Louisa. There is nothing else I could disobey you in.
Don Jer. Do you value your father's peace?
Don. Louisa. So much, that I will not fasten on him the regret of making an only daughter wretched.