Wench: You're not moving quite so freely as is your wont, Mr. Gosling. You're usually such a wonderful dancer.
Rake: Unfortunately, Miss Cardew, I am negotiating an obstruction in my breeches with the same tough, knotty and veined aspect as a Portuguese sailor's arm.
Rake: You dance impeccably, Miss Harwood. You've truly awoken the devil in my imaginings.
Wench: And you, Captain Jennings, have stirred something in the region girded by my most intimate undergarments.
Rake: Indeed, madam? And I believe that it will interest you to know that under the restrictions of my pantaloons there is a protrusion so monstrously tumescent that were you to avail yourself of it, I can guarantee your horse would see no action for a week.
|Cover of Season 1|
(from BBC's web shop)
Rake: Not too fatigued by this evening's exertions, Miss Cardew?
Rake: I would play the part of a wealthy industrialist, whilst you, Miss Cardew, would play a Whitechapel strumpet of such eye-wateringly low virtue that you would leave me as dry as a ship's biscuit.
Wench: Captain Jenning, I am looking forwards to succumbing to your roving hands this evening.
Rake: And it is with the utmost anticipation that I am looking forward to flinging you upon my divan and plundering your most intimate undergarments.
Wench: I'm sorry to disappoint you, Captain Jennings, but in a quite unforgivable display of amnesia, I appear to have left them in my bedchamber.
Rake: Ah, Miss Cardew. I was hoping to have the pleasure of interviewing you this evening.
Wench: Oh, Mr. Gosling, I'm afraid I've rather rashly agreed to receieve Captain Jennings this evening.
Rake: Captain Jennings? But why?
Wench: Because, Mr. Gosling, according to Lady Derbyshire, he is endowed with a sword as elegantly formed as it is epically proportioned and which will leave me walking like an orphan with rickets.
The best part is that according to research, this is probably the way things went down.
The series can be bought at any sensibly industrious vendor.