Judge: I have news for you, my fr iend. In order to shield Her fr om the evils of this world, I have decided To marry my dear Johanna.
Beadle: Ah, sir, happy news indeed.
Judge: Strange, though, when I off ered 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, Th ere'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 overhasty In the morning.
Beadle: Fret not though, my lord, I know a place, my lord, A barber, my lord, of skill. Th us 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: Until?
Beadle She bows to your every will.
Judge: A barber? Take me to him.
|