Talon. They have picked me clean.
Gurgle. Well! We are not picking your own feathers.
Pettifog. My dear friend, always grab the jack-pot!
Talon. A well-born man grabs all in splendid style.
Wordy (to Pettifog). Your intimate has been flaying us.
Pettifog. That’s proper. (To Sly.) You had better rise. (To Casetwister.) Will you not let him mix a punch for us? He is a great hand at it.
Casetwister. Very well.
Gurgle. That’s right, for the young beauty has been watering us as from a trough....
Sly (walking up to Anna). There is some brandy in the basket.
Fékla. His goose is cooked.