_Clar._ But yet, tho' I believe there's no life so happy as a marry'd one, in the main; yet I fancy, where two people are so very much together, they must often be in want of something to talk upon. Lady _Ara._ _Clarinda_, you are the most mistaken in the world; married people have things to talk of, child, that never enter into the imagination of others. Why now, here's my Lord and I, we han't been married above two short years you know, and we have already eight or ten things constantly in bank, that whenever we want company we can talk of any of them for two hours together, and the subject never the flatter. It will be as fresh next day, if we have occasion for it, as it was the first day it entertained us. _Clar._ Why that must be wonderful pretty. Lady _Ara._ O there's no life like it. This very day now for example, my Lord and I, after a pretty cheerful _tête à tête_ dinner, sat down by the fire-side, in an idle, indolent, pick-tooth way for a while, as if we had not thought of one another's being in the room. At last, stretching himself, and yawning twice, my dear, says he, you came home very late last night. 'Twas but two in the morning, says I. I was in bed (_yawning_) by eleven, says he. So you are every night, says I. Well, says he, I'm amazed how you can sit up so late. How can you be amazed, says I, at a thing that happens so often? Upon which we enter'd into conversation. And tho' this is a point has entertain'd us above fifty times already, we always find so many pretty new things to say upon't, that I believe in my soul it will last as long as we live. _Clar._ But in such sort of family dialogues, tho' extremely well for passing of time, don't there now and then enter some little sort of bitterness? Lady _Ara._ O yes; which don't do amiss at all; a little something that's sharp, moderates the extreme sweetness of matrimonial society, which would else perhaps be cloying. Tho' to tell you the truth, _Clarinda_, I think we squeezed a little too much lemon into it this bout; for it grew so sour at last, that I think I almost told him he was a fool; and he talkt something oddly of turning me out of doors. _Clar._ O, but have a care of that. Lady _Ara._ Why, to be serious, _Clarinda_, what wou'd you have a woman do in my case? There is no one thing he can do in the world to please me----Except giving me money; and that he is grown weary of; and I at the same time, partly by nature, and partly perhaps by keeping the best company, do with my soul love almost every thing that he hates; I dote upon assemblies, adore masquerades, my heart bounds at a ball; I love a play to distraction, cards inchant me, and dice--put me out of my little wits--Dear, dear hazard, what music there is in the rattle of the dice, compared to a sleepy opera! Do you ever play at hazard, _Clarinda_?