And am I better? (Sits, L.)
Pyg. That I do not know.
Gal. Then she has faults.
Pyg. Very few, indeed;
Mere trivial blemishes, that serve to show
That she and I are of one common kin.
I love her all the better for such faults.
Gal. (after a pause). Tell me some faults and I’ll commit them now.
Pyg. There is no hurry; they will come in time: (Sits beside her, L.)
Though for that matter, it’s a grievous sin