Toymaker: Oh, for heaven's sakes! Such a dreadful temper! I'm glad I'm not marrying you! Well, I am marrying you, but I'm marrying you to her.
Barnaby: Not yet, boys. The odds will be better when they're sleeping. We'll wait till nightfall. Come, let us lurk.
Barnaby: For lunch, I had roast goose.
Sylvester: That's the way we lost mother.