basket; his feet cold as ice, his breath hot as a furnace, and his hands and his face as greasy as his flannel night-cap. O matrimony! He tosses up the clothes with a barbarous swing over his shoulders, disorders the whole economy of my bed, leaves me half naked, and my whole night’s comfort is the tuneable serenade of that wakeful nightingale, his nose! Oh, the pleasure of counting the melancholy clock by a snoring husband! But now, sister, you shall see how handsomely, being a well-bred man, he will beg my pardon.

Enter Squire Sullen.

Squire Sul. My head aches consumedly.

Mrs. Sul. Will you be pleased, my dear, to drink tea with us this morning? it may do your head good.

Squire Sul. No.

Dor. Coffee, brother?

Squire Sul. Psha!

Mrs. Sul. Will you please to dress, and go to church with me? the air may help you.

Squire Sul. Scrub!

[Calls.

Enter Scrub.

Scrub. Sir!

Squire Sul. What day o’ th’ week is this?

Scrub. Sunday, an’t please your worship.

Squire Sul. Sunday! bring me a dram; and d’ye hear, set out the venison-pasty and a tankard of strong beer upon the hall-table, I’ll go to breakfast.

[Going.

Dor. Stay, stay, brother, you shan’t get off so; you were very naught last night, and must make your wife reparation; come, come, brother, won’t you ask pardon?

Squire Sul. For what?

Dor. For being drunk last night.

Squire Sul. I can afford it, can’t I?

Mrs. Sul. But I can’t, sir.

Squire Sul. Then you may let it alone.

Mrs. Sul. But I must tell you, sir, that this is not to be borne.

Squire Sul. I’m glad on’t.

Mrs. Sul. What is the reason, sir, that you use me thus inhumanly?