Blyth. Sir Tristram's reputation's not that kind.
He's most respectable in every way:
The clergy patronize him.
Europa. I know all that.—
Well, kiss me, Blyth; my cheek. You're handsomer
Than Tristram. What! Are you respectable?
Blyth. No; but the money. I stick to that, you know.
Europa. Oha! Ohe! Why, there's another lot;
[Gives him money and kisses him.]
And this for being so smart a simpleton.
You're mine, remember; body and soul, you're mine.
Blyth. I'm yours.
Europa. Now hurry, Blyth, or you'll be missed.
[Blyth goes out.]
And I'll be mistress here, or know who is.
Blyth, Blyth! Come back!
[Re-enter Blyth.]
Blyth. For God's sake, not so loud!