_Heartfree._ I should if there were any danger of it. _Lady B._ Pray, why so? _Heart._ Because I always had an aversion to being used like a dog. _Belinda._ Why truly, men in love are seldom used much better. _Lady B._ But were you never in love, Sir? _Heart._ No, I thank heaven, madam. _Bel._ Pray, where got you your learning then? _Heart._ From other people's expense. _Bel._ That's being a spunger, Sir, which is scarce honest. If you'd buy some experience with your own money, as 'twould be fairlier got, so 'twould stick longer by you. * * * * * _Berinthia._ Ah, Amanda, it's a delicious thing to be a young widow! _Aman._ You'll hardly make me think so. _Ber._ Phu! because you are in love with your husband; but that is not every woman's case. _Aman._ I hope 'twas yours at least. _Ber._ Mine, say ye? Now I have a great mind to tell you a lie, but I should do it so awkwardly you'd find me out. _Aman._ Then e'en speak the truth. _Ber._ Shall I? Then after all, I did love him, Amanda, as a man does penance. _Aman._ Why did you not refuse to marry him, then? _Ber._ Because my mother would have whipped me. _Aman._ How did you live together? _Ber._ Like man and wife--asunder. He loved the country, I the town. He hawks and hounds, I coaches and equipage. He eating and drinking, I carding and playing. He the sound of a horn, I the squeak of a fiddle. Whenever we met we gave one another the spleen. _Aman._ But tell me one thing truly and sincerely. _Ber._ What's that? _Aman._ Notwithstanding all these jars, did not his death at last extremely trouble you? _Ber._ O, yes. Not that my present pangs were so very violent, but the after pangs were intolerable. I was forced to wear a beastly widow's band a twelvemonth for 't. In the "Journey to London," written at the end of Vanbrugh's life, and not finished, there is a very amusing account of the manner in which a country squire and family travelled up to London in the seventeenth century. _James._ They have added two cart-horses to the four old mares, because my lady will have it said she came to town in her coach-and-six; and ha! ha! heavy George, the ploughman, rides postilion! _Uncle Richard._ Very well; the journey begins as it should do--James! _James._ Sir! _Uncle R._ Dost know whether they bring all the children with them? _James._ Only Squire Humphry and Miss Betty, Sir; the other six are put to board at half-a-crown a week a head with Joan Growse, at Smoke-dunghill Farm. _Uncle R._ The Lord have mercy upon all good folks! What work will these people make! Dost know when they'll be here?