for affronting your squirrel. [_To_ BELINDA.]

BELIN. Oh, the filthy rude beast.

ARAM. 'Tis a lasting quarrel; I think he has never been at our house
since.

BELL. But give yourselves the trouble to walk to that corner-house, and
I'll tell you by the way what may divert and surprise you.

SCENE XII.

SCENE: _Sylvia's Lodgings_.

HEARTWELL _and_ BOY.

HEART. Gone forth, say you, with her maid?

BOY. There was a man too, that fetched them out--Setter, I think they
called him.

HEART. So-h--that precious pimp too--damned, damned strumpet! could she
not contain herself on her wedding-day? not hold out till night? Oh,
cursed state! how wide we err, when apprehensive of the load of life.

We hope to find
That help which Nature meant in womankind,
To man that supplemental self-designed;
But proves a burning caustic when applied,
And Adam, sure, could with more ease abide
The bone when broken, than when made a bride.

SCENE XIII.

[_To him_] BELLMOUR, BELINDA, VAINLOVE, ARAMINTA.

BELL. Now George, what, rhyming! I thought the chimes of verse were
past, when once the doleful marriage-knell was rung.

HEART. Shame and confusion, I am exposed. [VAINLOVE _and_ ARAMINTA
_talk apart_.]

BELIN. Joy, joy, Mr. Bridegroom; I give you joy, sir.

HEART. 'Tis not in thy nature to give me joy. A woman can as soon give
immortality.

BELIN. Ha, ha, ha! oh Gad, men grow such clowns when they are married.

BELL. That they are fit for no company but their wives.

BELIN. Nor for them neither, in a little time. I swear, at the month's
end, you shall hardly find a married man that will do a civil thing to
his wife, or say a civil thing to anybody else. How he looks already,
ha, ha, ha.

BELL. Ha, ha, ha!

HEART. Death, am I made your laughing-stock? For you, sir, I shall find
a time; but take off your wasp here, or the clown may grow boisterous; I
have a fly-flap.

BELIN. You have occasion for't, your wife has been blown upon.

BELL. That's home.

HEART. Not fiends or furies could have added to my vexation, or
anything, but another woman. You've racked my patience; begone, or by--

BELL. Hold, hold. What the devil--thou wilt not draw upon a woman?

VAIN. What's the matter?

ARAM. Bless me! what have you done to him?

BELIN. Only touched a galled beast until he winced.

VAIN. Bellmour, give it over; you vex him too much. 'Tis all serious to
him.