Judge Turpin, spoken: Walk home with me, for I have news for you.
In order to shield her from the evils of this world, I have decided to marry Johanna next Monday.
Beadle, spoken: Ah, sir, happy news indeed.
Judge Turpin, spoken: Strange, when I offered myself to her, she showed a certain reluctance.
Beadle: Excuse me, my lord.
May I request, my lord,
Permission, my lord, to speak?
Forgive me if I suggest, my lord,
You're looking less than your best, my lord,
There's powder upon your vest, my lord,
And stubble upon your cheek.
And ladies, my lord, are weak.
Judge Turpin, spoken: Perhaps if she greets me cordially upon my return,
I shall give her a small gift...
Beadle: Ladies in their sensitivities, my lord,
Have a fragile sensibility,
When a girl's emergent,
Probably it's urgent
You defer to her gentility, my lord.
Personal disorder cannot be ignored,
Given their genteel proclivities.
Meaning no offense, it
Happens they resents it,
Ladies in their sensitivities, my lord.
Judge Turpin, spoken: Stubble, you say? Perhaps I am a little overhasty with my morning ablutions...
Beadle: Fret not though, my lord,
I know a place, my lord,
A barber, my lord, of skill.
Thus armed with a shaven face, my lord,
Some eau de cologne to brace my lord,
And musk to enhance the chase, my lord,
You'll dazzle the girl until...
Judge Turpin, spoken: Until?
Beadle, spoken: She bows to your every will.
Judge Turpin, spoken: Perhaps you may be right. Take me to him.