"I consider it as sweet as candy made from mustard and vinegar." "But not as sweet as your disposition, I admit.

Ah, Bilbil, your temper would put honey itself to shame." "Do not quarrel, I beg of you," pleaded Inga.

"Are we not sad enough already ?" "But this is a jolly quarrel," said the King, "and it is the way Bilbil and I often amuse ourselves.

Listen, now, to the last verse of all: "The maid who shied her shoe now cried-- Sing too-ral-oo-ral-i-do! Her tears were fried for the Captain's bride Who ate with pride her sobs, beside, And gently sighed 'I'm satisfied'-- Sing to-ral-oo-ral-i-do!" "Worse and worse!" grumbled Bilbil, with much scorn.

"I am glad that is the last verse, for another of the same kind might cause me to faint." "I fear you have no ear for music," said the King.
"I have heard no music, as yet," declared the goat.