Ha, ha, the wooing o’t.
Simpson: A very sweet measure, Mr. Burns, and exemplary morality. The ancients would most unconsciously have approved. And he who has not the expedition of the ancients is a blockhead.
Muir: A damned blockhead, dominie. That’s what Mr. Burns called the minister at lunch to-day. I never heard a compliment more prettily put. A damned blockhead.
Duncan (rousing from his stupor): Who says I’m a damned blockhead? I resent the insults of this company—I am tired of them. If Mr. Burns says I am a damned blockhead, he’s a bankrupt bastard.
Simpson and White: Order, order.
Muir (a little sobered): Shy Duncan, be ashamed of yourself, man. No one is welcome in this company who cannot get drunk like a gentleman.
Ogilvie (rising): I warned you, my lord, he was no fit member for our society.
Duncan (standing to him): You’re fit enough, I suppose, Mr. Five-Ace Ogilvie.
Muir (with authority now): Drop it, Duncan, I tell you. Sam is our gillie of all games. You’re our financier. We know our obligations. Very well. But you must apologise to Mr. Burns.
Duncan: I will not apologise if he calls me a damned blockhead.