Strike medium—Ten.
BULLER.
My dear sir, for a moment let me have that Spy-glass.
NORTH.
I must lay it down—for a Bevy of Fair Women are on the Mount—and are brought so near that I hear them laughing—especially the Prima Donna, whose Glass is in dangerous proximity with my nose.
BULLER.
Fling her a kiss, sir.
NORTH.
There—and how prettily she returns it!
BULLER.