_Gons_. This startles me!
_Amid_. Oh, sir, believe him not:
They love not truly, who, on any terms,
Can part with what they love.
_Gons_. I saw a lady
At Barcelona, of what name I know not,
Who, next to Julia, was the fairest creature
My eyes did e'er behold: But, how camest thou
To know her?
_Hip_. Sir, some other time I'll tell you.
_Amid_. It could not be Honoria, whom you saw;
For, sir, she has a face so very ugly,
That, if she were a saint for holiness,
Yet no man would seek virtue there.
_Hip_. This is the lyingest boy, sir;--I am sure
He never saw Honoria; for her face,
'Tis not so bad to frighten any man--
None of the wits have libelled it.
_Amid_. Don Roderick's sister, Angelina, does
So far exceed her, in the ornaments
Of wit and beauty, though now hid from sight,
That, like the sun, (even when eclipsed) she casts
A yellowness upon all other faces.
_Hip_. I'll not say much of her, but only this,
Don Manuel saw not with my eyes, if e'er
He loved that Flanders shape; that lump of earth,
And phlegm together.
_Amid_. You have often seen her,
It seems, by your description of her person:
But I'll maintain on any Spanish ground,
Whate'er she be, yet she is far more worthy
To have my lord her servant, than Honoria.
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