You see, sir, a man infatuate with love,
her ardent and eager slave.
So fetch the pomade and pumice stone
and lend me a more seductive tone,
a sprinkling perhaps of French cologne,
But first, sir, I think - a shave.

The closest I ever gave.
- You're in a merry mood today, Mr. Todd.
'Tis your delight, sir, catching fire
from one man to the next.
'Tis true, sir, love can still inspire
the blood to pound,
the heart leap higher.
What more, what more can man require-
Than love, sir?
More than love, sir.
What, sir?
Women.
Ah yes, women.
Pretty women.

Now then, my friend.
Now to your purpose.
Patience, enjoy it.
Revenge can't be taken in haste.
- Make haste, and if we wed, you'll be commended, sir.
My lord...
And who, may it be said, is your intended, sir?
- My ward. And pretty as a rosebud.
Pretty as her mother?
- What?
Oh, nothing, sir. Nothing.

Pretty women...
Fascinating...
Sipping coffee,
Dancing...
Pretty women
are a wonder.

Pretty women.
Sitting in the window or
standing on the stair,
Something in them
cheers the air.
Pretty women...
Silhouetted...
Stay within you...
Glancing...
Stay forever...
Breathing lightly...
Pretty women...

Pretty women!
Blowing out their candles or
combing out their hair...
Then they leave...
Even when they leave you and vanish,
they somehow
can still remain
there with you,
they're there.
Ah, pretty women...
At their mirrors...
In their gardens...
Letter-writing...
Flower-picking...
Weather-watching...
How they make a man sing!
Proof of heaven
as you're living-
Pretty women, so!
Pretty women, yes!
Pretty women, sir!
Pretty women!
Pretty women!