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. {87}

_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. {99}

_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? {109}

_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?

_Squire Sul_. Scrub!

_Scrub_. Sir! {118}

_Squire Sul_. Get things ready to shave my head. [_Exit_.

_Mrs. Sul_. Have a care of coming near his temples,
Scrub, for fear you meet something there that may
turn the edge of your razor.--[_Exit Scrub_.] Inveterate
stupidity I did you ever know so hard, so
obstinate a spleen as his? O sister, sister! I shall
never ha' good of the beast till I get him to town;
London, dear London, is the place for managing
and breaking a husband.

_Dor_. And has not a husband the same opportunities
there for humbling a wife? {129}

_Mrs. Sul_. No, no, child, 'tis a standing maxim in
conjugal discipline, that when a man would enslave his
wife, he hurries her into the country; and when
a lady would be arbitrary with her husband, she
wheedles her booby up to town. A man dare not play
the tyra