_Husband._ Woman--aye! _Wife._ You are always railing at our sex. _Husband._ And without reason? _Wife._ Without either rhyme or reason; you’d be miserable beings without us, for all that. _Husband._ Sometimes: there is no general rule without an exception; I could name some very good women-- _Wife._ Without the head, I suppose. _Husband._ With a head, and with a heart too. _Wife._ That’s a wonder! _Husband._ It would be still greater if I could not; for instance, there is Mrs Dawson, the best of wives; always at home, whenever you call, always in good humour, always neat and clean, sober and discreet. _Wife._ I wish you were tied to her. Always at home! the greatest gossiper in the parish; she may well smile, she has nothing to ruffle her temper; neat and clean--she has nothing else to do;--sober--she can take a glass as well as her neighbours; discreet--that’s another word, she can tip a wink: but I detest scandal; I am surprised you didn’t say she was handsome? _Husband._ So she is, in my eye. _Wife._ You have a fine eye, to be sure; you’re an excellent judge of beauty; what do you think of her nose? _Husband._ She’s a fine woman in spite of her nose. _Wife._ Fine feathers make fine birds; she can paint her withered cheeks, and pencil her eyebrows. _Husband._ You can do the same, if you please. _Wife._ My cheeks don’t want paint, nor my eyebrows pencilling. _Husband._ True; the rose of youth and beauty is still on your cheeks, and your brow the bow of Cupid. _Wife._ You once thought so; but that moving mummy, Molly Dawson, is your favourite. She’s, let me see, no gossip, and yet she’s found in every house but her own; and so silent too, when she has all the clack to herself; her tongue is as thin as a sixpence with talking; with a pair of eyes burned into the socket, and painted panels into the bargain; and then as to scandal--but her tongue is no scandal. _Husband._ Take care, there’s such a thing as standing in a white sheet! _Wife._ Curse you! you would provoke a saint. _Husband._ You seem to be getting into a passion. _Wife._ Is it any wonder? A white sheet! You ought to be tossed in a blanket. Handsome! I can’t forget that word: my charms are lost on such a tasteless fellow as you. _Husband._ The charms of your tongue. _Wife._ Don’t provoke me, or I’ll fling this dish at you head. _Husband._ Well, I have done. _Wife._ But I haven’t done: I wish I had drowned myself the first day I saw you. _Husband._ It’s not too late. _Wife._ I’d see you hung first. _Husband._ You’d be the first to cut me down. _Wife._ Then I ought to be tied up in your stead. _Husband._ I’d cut you down. _Wife._ You would? _Husband._ Yes, but I’d be sure you were dead first. _Wife._ I cannot bear this any longer. _Husband._ Then ’tis time for me to withdraw; I see by your eyes that the storm is collecting. _Wife._ And it shall burst on your head.