I blow my nose at you, so-called Arthur King, you and all your silly English k-nnnnniggets. Well, why not? Come on, then. I can't. Oh, don't grovel!
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Looks like there's dirty work afoot. Every time I try to talk to someone it's 'sorry this' and 'forgive me that' and 'I'm not worthy'. Yes. Yeah, a bit. Bravely ran away, away. In war we're tough and able, quite indefatigable. Between our quests we sequin vests and impersonate Clark Gable.
What I object to is that you automatically treat me like an inferior!
Charge! I did say 'sorry' about the 'old woman', but from the behind you looked- Look, my liege!
What, held under the dorsal guiding feathers? Right. Remove the supports! Where'd you get the coconuts? Bread! Exactly. So, logically... Well, it doesn't matter. Will you go and tell your master that Arthur from the Court of Camelot is here? Burn her anyway! Eh. You are indeed brave, Sir Knight, but the fight is mine. Oooh.
...but by a two-thirds majority in the case of more major-- Listen. Strange women lying in ponds distributing swords is no basis for a system of government. Supreme executive power derives from a mandate from the masses, not from some farcical aquatic ceremony.
He isn't? Well, what are you, then? Well, I'll ask him, but I don't think he'll be very keen. What a strange person. A witch! A witch! A witch! A witch! What are you doing in England? I move for no man. Here's one.