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, 
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:
barber? Take me to him.