Wedding Rehearsal (1932)
Earl of Stokeshire: You understand me, Susan? You must tell the girls, I won't have it!
Countess of Stokeshire: Yes, dear, I'll tell them. But, you know, they really never take any notice of what you say...
Earl of Stokeshire: I know nothing of the sort! As their father and the head of this household, I respectfully submit that -
Countess of Stokeshire: [interrupting] That's what I say, you have to.
Earl of Stokeshire: Have to what?
Countess of Stokeshire: Respectfully submit!
Ponsonby: The draft of the cable, Lord Stokeshire.
Earl of Stokeshire: Read it out, Ponsonby.
Ponsonby: "The Earl and Countess of Stokeshire request the honor of your presence..."
Earl of Stokeshire: [interrupting] Ridiculous! Cables cost money. Take this down
[counts words on his fingers]
Earl of Stokeshire: "Daughters being married June seventeenth. Expect you, Stokeshire."
Speaker: Blast the weddings of the idle rich! I say it is a dis - disgrace that people what calls theirselves human beings should waste their substance, as Shakespeare says, in riotous weddings like this here as is being prepared by the Earl of Stokeshire and his blood-sucking parasites!
Heckler: He employs working men!
Another heckler: Yes!
Speaker: Working men? Footmen in plus-fours. And what work do they do? Scent his handkerchiefs and hand him his spittoon after dinner. Have you read your evening papers? Admirals, generals, judges, brought over from all over the world, and other parts - to do what? To rehearse a wedding!
[Reggie arrives at the Stokeshire/Roxbury home to propose]
Butler: Lady Rose Mary's in the music room, and Lady Mary Rose in the morning room.
Marquis of Buckminster: Thank you.
Marquis of Buckminster: Heads, morning room; tails, music room... Morning room.
Marquis of Buckminster: Oh, all right, I'll marry somebody.
Dowager Marchioness of Buckminster: "Somebody"! Do you know how many girls there are for you to choose from?
Marquis of Buckminster: Roughly 6,000,000, aren't there?
Dowager Marchioness of Buckminster: Exactly 7 young women who are fit to bear our name, and your children.
Marquis of Buckminster: Oh...
Dowager Marchioness of Buckminster: That is, in England.
Marquis of Buckminster: That's right, dear, buy British, yes. Well, come on, tell me the worst.
Dowager Marchioness of Buckminster: My first choice, the Roxbury twins.
Marquis of Buckminster: Both of them?
Dowager Marchioness of Buckminster: Either of them.
[Running into each other unexpectedly]
Derek Dryden: I thought you told me you were spending the evening with a WOMAN friend!
Mrs. Dryden: Yes, but you didn't tell me YOU were!
Earl of Stokeshire: Nobody's a nobody who marries a somebody who's anybody! I - I mean, anybody who marries a somebody who - who - who's a nobody - becomes ipse facto... uhh... I mean, at any rate, it's entirely my business!
Dowager Marchioness of Buckminster: Here he is again. "Lord Buckminster will fulfill his usual role of best man." This time, at the Roxbury wedding. I do wish he'd choose a girl for himself.
Miss Hutchinson: Do men ever do that, Lady Buckminster?
Dowager Marchioness of Buckminster: Of course they do; whatever do you mean?
Miss Hutchinson: Why, the girl usually chooses the man, and then makes him think he's done it himself!
Dowager Marchioness of Buckminster: What a dreadful idea, and how right you are!
News Editor: Hold the edition! Clear column 1 and 2, front page. What? The Vesuvius eruption, 50,000 dead? The danger of war in southern Europe? Oh, spike it, throw it out - it's the Binley-Foster wedding!
Harry: Now tell me, my boy, what do you think about marriage?
Marquis of Buckminster: [tying his bow tie] Marriage? Well now, um, have you ever bought a tie?
Harry: A tie?
Marquis of Buckminster: Yes, you know, you see a tie in a shop window, and you think, "That's the tie I've longed for always. And I've got to have it."
Harry: But we're talking about marriage, my boy.
Marquis of Buckminster: Yes, I know. Well... you go into the shop, and the price is a bit bigger than you expected, but you get it, and you put it on and look at it in the shop mirror, and it's the exact, delicate, discreet shade you always wanted - and it's yours!
Harry: Well, what about it?
Marquis of Buckminster: What about it? Yes, well, then you get it home, and you look at it in the daylight. And it's not the shade you wanted at all; it's the one color in the world you loathe. But you've bought it, and you've paid for it... and it's round your neck!
Harry: Hmph, you can change it.
Marquis of Buckminster: Not if it's the marriage tie, you can't!
Harry: Well, you may be right, dear boy... but somewhere there's a tie that suits you, that goes with everything. You've probably put it away in a drawer and never even looked at it. One day you give it away to the butler or someone, and when you see it on him, you realize it's the one tie in the world for you, and somebody else has got it!
Marquis of Buckminster: Which girl do you mean?
Harry: We're talking about, uh, ties, my boy...
Marquis of Buckminster: Hutchie! Hutchie, I believe you're the tie I gave to my butler!
Miss Hutchinson: Tie?
Marquis of Buckminster: Oh, you know, darling... thing that goes round your neck.
[Takes her arms and puts them around him]
Countess of Stokeshire: We were afraid our cable wouldn't catch you!
Harry: Oh, yes, it caught me all right.
Earl of Stokeshire: Weren't you surprised?
Harry: Never so knocked over in all my life!
Lady Rose Mary: But what did you say, Uncle?
Harry: I said, Bl-bless the children, they've bagged a brace of princes or grand-dukes, I'll be bound. Eh, my dears?
Lady Rose Mary: Well, Uncle, they're not exactly...
Lady Mary Rose: Oh, who cares about a title anyhow?
Harry: Mmm. Of course, of course... if you love him, it doesn't matter if he's called Thompson!
Tootles: [clearing throat] As a matter of fact, my name IS Thompson.
Harry: Never worry, my dear boy! I daresay you've done nothing to deserve it!
Countess of Stokeshire: I suppose... I suppose you've no idea what it is I want to talk to you about?
Lady Mary Rose: No, Mumsy, darling.
Countess of Stokeshire: Oh, what a pity! I-I-I'd hoped you'd help me out a little.
Lady Rose Mary: Well, darling, if you tell us what it's all about, we'll do our best.
Countess of Stokeshire: Well, you see, in these days, almost everything is-is made by machinery. And that-that might have given you wrong ideas.
Lady Mary Rose: How do you mean, darling?
Countess of Stokeshire: Well... well, when-when I was a girl, chickens used to lay their own eggs. But now they're all born in glass boxes... like cuckoos.
Lady Rose Mary: But cuckoos aren't born in glass boxes, darling!
Lady Mary Rose: She means incubators.
Countess of Stokeshire: Yes, darling, that's right. That's right. Well-well, you-you mustn't expect anything of that sort.
Lady Rose Mary: We don't, my angel.
Countess of Stokeshire: [playing nervously with her handkerchief] You see, when I first married your father, he didn't-he didn't look to me at all the kind of man to go and have twins.
Lady Mary Rose: But, darling, he didn't have them, you did!
Countess of Stokeshire: Yes... yes, in a way, but-but... he-he gave me the idea. Do you know what I mean?
Marquis of Buckminster: [looking at the list of eligible women] Oh, Granny, after all, it's not fair. Now take Audrey Ferraby, for instance. You couldn't expect me to live with that nose.
Dowager Marchioness of Buckminster: That nose comes straight down from the Conqueror!
Marquis of Buckminster: I know it does, darling, but, well, it comes down such a long way