_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.

_Isaac_. Well, egad, I'll pluck up resolution, and meet her frowns