_Isaac_. Gad, I shall never be able to deal with her alone; nothing
keeps me in such awe as perfect beauty--now there is something
consoling and encouraging in ugliness.

SONG

Give Isaac the nymph who no beauty can boast,
But health and good humour to make her his toast;
If straight, I don't mind whether slender or fat,
And six feet or four--we'll ne'er quarrel for that.

Whate'er her complexion, I vow I don't care;
If brown, it is lasting--more pleasing, if fair:
And though in her face I no dimples should see,
Let her smile--and each dell is a dimple to me.

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----