Percy Blakeney: Marriage isn't a word, it's a sentence. Percy Blakeney: To love your wife, frightfully unfashionable. Lady Blakeney: They say love's a disease and marriage the cure for it. Percy Blakeney: They seek him here. Prine of Wales: They seek him there. Percy Blakeney: Those Frenchies seek him everywhere. Prince of Wales: Is he in heaven? Percy Blakeney: Or is he in hell? That damned elusive Pimpernel! Sir Percy: The poets tell us love is blind. Lady Blakeney: The miracle of marriage opens our eyes. Chauvelin: I want his name. Danby: The Scarlet...Pimpernel. Chauvelin: I was beginning to think you'd lost your tongue along with your toenails. Percy: Clean bowled by God, sir! That's a cricketing expression, Monsieur Shuffle-on. Chauvelin: Chauvelin. Percy: Whatever. Percy: What is a wife but inexplicability in petticoats? Marguerite: What is a husband but a bully in britches? Percy and Guests: (singing) Ah, ca ira, ca ira, ca ira, over in France there's a revolution! Ah, ca ira ca ira, ca ira, watch what you say or you'll lose your head! Ah, ca ira, ca ira, ca ira, pass some time, see an execution! Ah, ca ira, ca ira, ca ira, une deux trois and you fall down dead! Ah ca ira, ca ira, ca ira, hear the tale of Marie Antoinette-a! Ah, ca ira, ca ira, ca ira, a bloodier sight you have never seen!