Don Jer. By St. Iago! you must be blind.
Isaac. No, no; 'tis you are partial.
Don Jer. How! have I neither sense nor taste? If a fair skin, fine eyes, teeth of ivory, with a lovely bloom, and a delicate shape,—if these, with a heavenly voice and a world of grace, are not charms, I know not what you call beautiful.
Isaac. Good lack, with what eyes a father sees! As I have life, she is the very reverse of all this: as for the dimity skin you told me of, I swear 'tis a thorough nankeen as ever I saw! for her eyes, their utmost merit is not squinting—for her teeth, where there is one of ivory, its neighbour is pure ebony, black and white alternately, just like the keys of a harpsichord. Then, as to her singing, and heavenly voice—by this hand, she has a shrill, cracked pipe, that sounds for all the world like a child's trumpet.
Don Jer. Why, you little Hebrew scoundrel, do you mean to insult me? Out of my house, I say!
Don Ferd. [Coming forward.] Dear sir, what's the matter?
Don Jer. Why, this Israelite here has the impudence to say your sister's ugly.
Don Ferd. He must be either blind or insolent.
Isaac. [Aside.]So, I find they are all in a story. Egad, I believe I have gone too far!
Don Ferd. Sure, sir, there must be some mistake; it can't be my sister whom he has seen.