Sir John: Legs—begad!
Robert: Pre-cisely, sir ... leggy, your honour.
Sir John: Ha, leggy! Didn’t you think her a young goddess?
Robert: She didn’t strike me as such, sir.
Sir John: But you must ha’ remarked her beauty?
Robert: Nothing to mention, sir.
Sir John: But damme—her shape! Her form! Her air! Her carriage! Her grace!
Robert: Too much of ’em all, sir.
Sir John: ’S death, man—you must be blind!
Robert: Very good, sir.