'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!
_Don Jer_. Her skin pure dimity, yet more fair, being spangled here
and there with a golden freckle.
_Isaac_. Charming pretty rogue! pray how is the tone of her voice?
_Don Jer_. Remarkably pleasing--but if you could prevail on her to
sing, you would be enchanted--she is a nightingale--a Virginia
nightingale! But come, come; her maid shall conduct you to her
antechamber.
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