Let her locks be the reddest that ever were seen,
And her eyes may be e'en any colour but green;
For in eyes, though so various in lustre and hue,
I swear I've no choice—only let her have two.
'Tis true I'd dispense with a throne on her back,
And white teeth, I own, are genteeler than black;
A little round chin too's a beauty, I've heard;
But I only desire she mayn't have a beard.
Don Jer. You will change your note, my friend, when you've seen Louisa.
Isaac. Oh, Don Jerome, the honour of your alliance——
Don Jer. Ay, but her beauty will affect you—she is, though I say it who am her father, a very prodigy. There you will see features with an eye like mine—yes, i'faith, there is a kind of wicked sparkling— sometimes of a roguish brightness, that shows her to be my own.
Isaac. Pretty rogue!
Don Jer. Then, when she smiles, you'll see a little dimple in one cheek only; a beauty it is certainly, yet, you shall not say which is prettiest, the cheek with the dimple, or the cheek without.
Isaac. Pretty rogue!
Don Jer. Then the roses on those cheeks are shaded with a sort of velvet down, that gives a delicacy to the glow of health.
Isaac. Pretty rogue!