Lady. - Vaya, vaya, what a tiresome place is Valladolid! How
different from Toro.
Myself. - I should have thought that it is at least as agreeable as
Toro, which is not a third part so large.
Lady. - As agreeable as Toro! Vaya, vaya! Were you ever in the
prison of Toro, Sir Cavalier?
Myself. - I have never had that honour; the prison is generally the
last place which I think of visiting.
Lady. - See the difference of tastes: I have been to see the prison
of Valladolid, and it seems as tiresome as the town.
Myself. - Of course, if grief and tediousness exist anywhere, you
will find them in the prison.
Lady. - Not in that of Toro.
Myself. - What does that of Toro possess to distinguish it from all
others?
Lady. - What does it possess? Vaya! Am I not the carcelera? Is
not my husband the alcayde? Is not that son of mine a child of the
prison?
Myself. - I beg your pardon, I was not aware of that circumstance;
it of course makes much difference.
Lady. - I believe you. I am a daughter of that prison, my father
was alcayde, and my son might hope to be so, were he not a fool.
Myself. - His countenance then belies him strangely: I should be
loth to purchase that youngster for a fool.
