And now, my dear, if you please, you shall have
the first word. {231}

_Arch_. And the last, for five pounds!

_Mrs. Sul_. Spouse!

_Squire Sul_. Rib!

_Mrs. Sul_. How long have we been married?

_Squire Sul_. By the almanac, fourteen months; but by
my account, fourteen years.

_Mrs. Sul_. 'Tis thereabout by my reckoning.

_Count Bel_. Garzoon, their account will agree.

_Mrs. Sul_. Pray, spouse, what did you marry for? {240}

_Squire Sul_. To get an heir to my estate.

_Sir Chas_. And have you succeeded?

_Squire Sul_. No.

_Arch_. The condition fails of his side.--Pray, madam,
what did you marry for?

_Mrs. Sul_. To support the weakness of my sex by the
strength of his, and to enjoy the pleasures of an
agreeable society.

_Sir Chas_. Are your expectations answered?

_Mrs. Sul_. No. {250}

_Count Bel_. A clear case! a clear case!

_Sir Chas_. What are the bars to your mutual contentment?

_Mrs. Sul_. In the first place, I can't drink ale with him.

_Squire Sul_. Nor can I drink tea with her.

_Mrs. Sul_. I can't hunt with you.

_Squire Sul_. Nor can I dance with you.

_Mrs. Sul_. I hate cocking and racing.

_Squire Sul_. And I abhor ombre and piquet.

_Mrs. Sul_. Your silence is intolerable.

_Squire Sul_. Your prating is worse. {260}

_Mrs. Sul_. Have we not been a perpetual offence to each
other? a gnawing vulture at the heart?

_Squire Sul_. A frightful goblin to the sight?

_Mrs. Sul_. A porcupine to the feeling?

_Squire Sul_. Perpetual wormwood to the taste?

_Mrs. Sul_. Is there on earth a thing we could agree in?

_Squire Sul_. Yes--to part.

_Mrs. Sul_. With all my heart

_Squire Sul_. Your hand.

_Mrs. Sul_. Here. {270}

_Squire Sul_. These hands joined us, these shall part us.
--Away!

_Mrs. Sul_. North

_Squire Sul_. South.

_Mrs. Sul_. East.

_Squire Sul_. West--far as the poles asunder.

_Count Bel_. Begar, the ceremony be vera pretty!

_Sir Chas_. Now, Mr. Sullen, there wants only my sister's
fortune to make us easy.

_Squire Sul_. Sir Charles, you love your sister, and I love
her fortune; every one to his fancy. {281}

_Arch_. Then you won't refund;

_Squire Sul_. Not a stiver.

_Arch_. Then I find, madam, you must e'en go to your
prison again.

_Count Bel_. What is the portion?

_Sir Chas_. Ten thousand pounds, sir.