beheld.

_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.