What cloying Meat is Love--when Matrimony's the Sauce to it! Two Years Marriage has debauch'd my five Senses. Every thing I see, every thing I hear, every thing I feel, every thing I smell, and every thing I taste--methinks has Wife in't. No Boy was ever so weary of his Tutor, no Girl of her Bib, no Nun of doing Penance, or old Maid of being chaste, as I am of being married. Sure there's a secret Curse entail'd upon the very Name of Wife. My Lady is a young Lady, a fine Lady, a witty Lady, a virtuous Lady,--and yet I hate her. There is but one thing on Earth I loath beyond her: That's Fighting. Would my Courage come up to a fourth part of my Ill-Nature, I'd stand buff to her Relations, and thrust her out of doors. But Marriage has sunk me down to such an Ebb of Resolution, I dare not draw my Sword, tho' even to get rid of my Wife. But here she comes. _Enter ~Lady Brute~._ _Lady Brute._ Do you dine at home to-day, Sir _John_? _Sir John._ Why, do you expect I should tell you what I don't know myself? _Lady Brute._ I thought there was no harm in asking you. _Sir John._ If thinking wrong were an excuse for Impertinence, Women might be justify'd in most things they say or do. _Lady Brute._ I'm sorry I have said any thing to displease you. _Sir John._ Sorrow for things past is of as little importance to me, as my dining at home or abroad ought to be to you. _Lady Brute._ My Enquiry was only that I might have provided what you lik'd. _Sir John._ Six to four you had been in the wrong there again; for what I lik'd yesterday I don't like to-day; and what I like to-day, 'tis odds I mayn't like to-morrow. _Lady Brute._ But if I had ask'd you what you lik'd? _Sir John._ Why then there wou'd have been more asking about it than the thing was worth. _Lady Brute._ I wish I did but know how I might please you. _Sir John._ Ay, but that sort of Knowledge is not a Wife's Talent. _Lady Brute._ Whate'er my Talent is, I'm sure my Will has ever been to make you easy. _Sir John._ If Women were to have their Wills, the World wou'd be finely govern'd. _Lady Brute._ What reason have I given you to use me as you do of late? It once was otherwise: You marry'd me for Love. _Sir John._ And you me for Money: So you have your Reward, and I have mine. _Lady Brute._ What is it that disturbs you? _Sir John._ A Parson. _Lady Brute._ Why, what has he done to you? _Sir John._ He has married me. [_Exit Sir ~John~._ _Lady ~Brute~ sola._