Don Jer. You meant it so, did not you?
Isaac. O mercy, no! a joke—just to try how angry it would make you.
Don Jer. Was that all, i'faith? I didn't know you had been such a wag. Ha! ha! ha! By St. Iago! you made me very angry, though. Well, and you do think Louisa handsome?
Isaac. Handsome! Venus de Medicis was a sybil to her.
Don Jer. Give me your hand, you little jocose rogue! Egad, I thought we had been all off.
Don Ferd. [Aside.] So! I was in hopes this would have been a quarrel; but I find the Jew is too cunning.
Don Jer. Ay, this gust of passion has made me dry—I am seldom ruffled. Order some wine in the next room—let us drink the poor girl's health. Poor Louisa! ugly, eh! ha! ha! ha! 'twas a very good joke, indeed!
Isaac. [Aside.] And a very true one, for all that.
Don Jer, And, Ferdinand, I insist upon your drinking success to my friend.
Don Ferd. Sir, I will drink success to my friend with all my heart.