Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

Excellent, my friend.
By the sea, Mr. Todd We'll be comfy-cozy
She wasn't no match for such craft you see
Larks never will, you know When they're captive
This is from early infancy The talent give to me
Glad, as always, to oblige my friends and neighbors
And no wonder with the price of meat what it is
ln order to shield her from the evils of this world,
A shooting star!
By the sea, Mr. Todd Oh, l know you'd love it
Much as l do appreciate tonsorial doormen
You great useless thing.
What is that?
Is that squire on the fire?
You are a Paragon of Integrity.
Don't distress yourself What's your rush?
-Door's closed properly. -This is a grinder.
Alms!
...the way I've dreamed you are
What's that?
The king of the barbers The barber of kings
Something not very nice.
Now, what do you intend we should do about that, then?
The Judge has repented, she thinks Poor thing
And he was beautiful
Everything I did, I swear, I thought
Foolishness.
-Ale there! -Right, ma'am!
Oh, love, l feel quite the same way.
l've sweated in a living hell on a false charge.
Me eyelids'll flutter, I'll turn into butter The moment l mutter l do!
You might say that you was inspiration to me.
-And to anyone at all! -And to anyone at all!
Do you hear me?
Hang on.
Once it bubbles Then what's to do?
Reminds me of my dear Albert.
He had this wife, you see
Do you see these razors?
A pious vulture of the law
I'll steal you, Johanna!
l'd like to thank you, Anthony.
poor thing...
City on fire
And though I'll think of you, I guess Until the day I die
What is this? What are you talking about?
So don't you go trespassing there, or it's a good whipping for you,
You heard what Judge Turpin said, little man.
Times is so hard, why don't you rent it out?
The worst pies in London
There's no one she knows there Poor dear, poor thing
hsq beats this is crazy
Come in.
So, is we got a deal?
She was his reason and his life
-She'll be here soon, you say? -Yes.
A sailor must know the ways of the world, yes?
-What more -What more
Think how snug it'll be Underneath our flannel
That's nice, dear.
Make haste, and if we wed You'll be commended, sir
And l say to you that it is nothing but an arrant fraud,
You know there's nothing l wouldn't do for you.
Sir, l bow to a skill far greater than my own.
Require the grace Require the flair
He's here every Thursday. ltalian. All the rage he is.
May the good Lord smile on you.
No, no, not lied at all No, l never lied
My faithful friend
Was it quick, sir? Did it in a tick, sir?
Service them well and hold their custom,
She bows to your every will
Johanna elope with you?
Can't really remember, can you?
Good grind.
He won't be back.
It take-a panache It take-a the passion for the art
Now, Mr. T, surely one's enough for today.
Those crunching noises pervading the air?
He was there all right Only not so contrite