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.