Judge: I have news for you, my friend. In order to shield her from the evils of this world I have decided to marry my dear Johanna. Beadle: Oh, sir, happy news indeed! Judge: Strange, though. 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: Stubble, you say? Perhaps I am a little over-hasty in the mornings Beadle: Fret not though, my lord I know a place, my lord A barber, my lord, of skill Thus art with a shaven face, my lord Some eau de cologne to place, my lord And to enhance the chase, my lord You'll dazzle the girl until... Judge: Until? Beadle: She bows to your every will Judge: A barber? Take me to him!
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