- Farmer Sweetland: ...I am a man that a little child can lead but a regiment of soldiers couldn't drive.
- [last lines]
- Farmer Sweetland: And if anybody knows a woman with a gentler heart and a straighter back and a nobler character, I'd like to see her.
- Farmer Sweetland: I don't mind they pillowy women... so long as they be pillowy in the right places.
- Araminta Dench, His Housekeeper: A woman't that's a pillowy at thirty be often a feather bed at forty!
- Churdles Ash, His Handyman: I've seed the Master 'ave 'is eye on a woman or two of late. To see an old man in love be worse than seeing him with the whooping cough.
- Farmer Sweetland: A female or two be floatin' around in my mind like the smell of a Sunday dinner. Get a pencil and paper, 'Minta, and us'll run over the possibles and impossibles!
- Farmer Sweetland: The whole power of the female sex has been drawn against me. They have taken away my self-respect.
- Churdles Ash, His Handyman: If I were the Government, I'd give the drunkards a rest and look after the lovers.
- Churdles Ash, His Handyman: Holy Matrimony be a proper steam roller for flattening the hope out of a man and the joy out of a woman.
- Farmer Sweetland: [discussing wife prospects] You know her back view's not a day over thirty!
- Araminta Dench, His Housekeeper: But, you have to live with her front view.
- Farmer Sweetland: There's no need to wish me luck - Louisa Windeatt will come like a lamb to the slaughter.
- Widow Windeatt: What brings you up my hill, Sweetland?
- Farmer Sweetland: I come over like the foxes you're so fond of... to pick up a fat hen!
- Widow Windeatt: I am not the sort of woman for you - I am far too independent.
- Farmer Sweetland: You'll only feel the velvet glove and never know I was breaking you in.
- Farmer Sweetland: Well you don't want to marry a boy, do you?
- Mary Hearn, Postmistress: Why not? 'Tis a way with girls to marry boys, isn't it?
- Farmer Sweetland: Have you got the face to call yourself a *girl*?
- Mary Hearn, Postmistress: What the mischief should I call myself, then?
- Farmer Sweetland: *Full blown and a a bit over*... that's what I call you! The trouble with you is, you are too fond of dressing your mutton lamb fashion.
- Mary Hearn, Postmistress: Is this a nightmare?
- Farmer Sweetland: Your hat is!
- Mary Hearn, Postmistress: You old sheep... to come to a woman in all her prime and beauty.
- Mary Hearn, Postmistress: No man would even trouble to get you into hysterics, you picnicking little grey rat!
- Henry Coaker: Us be drawing turnips a'ready. Proper masterpieces - so round and white as a woman's bosom!