BEADLE (Sings):
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.
(Music continues)
BEADLE:
Fret not though, my lord,
I know a place, my lord,
barber, my lord, of skill.
Thus armed with a shaven face, my lord,
Some eau de cologne to grace my lord
And musk to enhance the chase, my lord,
You'll dazzle the girl until
She bows to your every will.