(disguised as a hellfire preacher)
Artemus: I would like to sing my own original composition, entitled, "Never Make Friends With the Devil, Brother--His Pitchfork Will Get You in the End"!
Jennifer McCoy: Oh, oh, the poor dear misunderstood man. The cruelty of it all. Is there no justice? No humanity?
James: No drama critic.
Jennifer McCoy: What?
James: You are laying it on a little thick, lady.
Jennifer McCoy: Well, now you see why I can't get out of the chorus. I'm a lousy actress.
James: I'll have to go along with that.
Jennifer McCoy: You're just like the rest of them, aren't you. You scratch my back and I'll scratch yours.
James: My back isn't itching.
James: Speaking of the dead, you've got it easy. Street preaching is at least safe. I've been here less than an hour and someone's tried to kill me twice already.
Artemus: They failed, I hope?
James: Oh, there's a girl.
Artemus: Of course.
James: Her name is Jennifer McCoy. For some reason I feel she's involved in this. You keep an eye on her.
Artemus: Just an eye? I have so much more to offer.
Jennifer McCoy: Will you help me?
Artemus: For you, Jennifer, anything. Who do I have to kill?
Jennifer McCoy: How did you know?
Ragan: Very well done, Mr. West. You are formidable.
Jim: I drink a lot of milk.
James: I'm afraid I've got some bad news for you. Your uncle is really going to be executed this time.
Jennifer McCoy: But my money!
James: That's what I like about this girl. She is filled with compassion, Artemus.
Artemus: Well, what do you want? Nobody's perfect.
Artemus: Stone walls may possibly a prison make, but iron bars not necessarily a cage.
Artemus is mangling the last stanza of Richard Lovelace's poem, "To Althea, From Prison." The actual line is: "Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage."