Lena. Oh, no, dot vas only the poet dot board mit the mistress. How you vas dis evening, Mr. Smith?
Byron. Fair maiden, I stoop to kiss your snow-white hand.
Han. No, sir, not dis week. Dis vos my girl, I do all her kissing by gontract. Shust you mind your pisness and I’ll mind yours.
Byron. My nut-brown sylph, tell me, I pray, who this uncouth barbarian is?
Han. (Jumping up.) Hold my coat, Lena.
Lena. Vot for?
Han. He has insulted you. I vill preak his fist wit mine head. He called you a nut-brown maid. You vas a white Dutch girl. By Shumping Shadrach I will pull out his teeth with mine boot.
Lena. Shust you sit on an ice-box, Hannis, he means no harm.
Byron. You are right, my starry-eyed gazelle.
Han. Vhy don’t you call her a plack-eyed camel, und be done wid id?