_Gripe._ I must tell you I am running mad with yours. _Clar._ Ah! how insupportable are the humours of some husbands, so full of fancies, and so ungovernable: What have you in the world to disturb you? _Gripe._ What have I to disturb me! I have you, Death and the Devil. _Clar._ Ah, merciful heaven! how he swears! You should never accustom yourself to such words as these; indeed, my dear, you shou'd not; your mouth's always full of them. _Gripe._ Blood and thunder! Madam---- _Clar._ Ah, he'll fetch the house down: Do you know you make me tremble for you? _Flippanta_! who's there? _Flippanta_! _Gripe._ Here's a provoking devil for you! _Enter ~Flippanta~._ _Flip._ What in the name of _Jove_'s the matter? you raise the neighbourhood. _Clar._ Why here's your master in a most violent fuss, and no mortal soul can tell for what. _Gripe._ Not tell for what! _Clar._ No, my life. I have begged him to tell me his griefs, _Flippanta_; and then he swears, good Lord! how he does swear. _Gripe._ Ah, you wicked jade! Ah, you wicked jade! _Clar._ Do you hear him _Flippanta_! do you hear him! _Flip._ Pray, Sir, let's know a little what puts you in all this fury? _Clar._ Pr'ythee stand near me, _Flippanta_, there's an odd froth about his mouth, looks as if his poor head were going wrong, I'm afraid he'll bite. _Gripe._ The wicked woman, _Flippanta_, the wicked woman. _Clar._ Can any body wonder I shun my own house, when he treats me at this rate in it? _Gripe._ At this rate! why in the devil's name---- _Clar._ Do you hear him again? _Flip._ Come, a little moderation, Sir, and try what that will produce. _Gripe._ Hang her, 'tis all a pretence to justify her going abroad. _Clar._ A pretence! a pretence! Do you hear how black a charge he loads me with? Charges me with a pretence? Is this the return for all my downright open actions? You know, my dear, I scorn pretences: Whenever I go abroad, it is without pretence. _Gripe._ Give me patience. _Flip._ You have a great deal, Sir. _Clar._ And yet he's never content, _Flippanta_. _Gripe._ What shall I do? _Clar._ What a reasonable man wou'd do; own your self in the wrong, and be quiet. Here's _Flippanta_ has understanding, and I have moderation; I'm willing to make her judge of our differences. _Flip._ You do me a great deal of honour, Madam: but I tell you beforehand, I shall be a little on Master's side. _Gripe._ Right, _Flippanta_ has sense. Come, let her decide. Have I not reason to be in a passion? tell me that. _Clar._ You must tell her for what, my life. _Gripe._ Why, for the trade you drive, my soul. _Flip._ Look you, Sir, pray take things right. I know Madam does fret you a little now and then, that's true; but in the fund, she is the softest, sweetest, gentlest lady breathing: let her but live entirely to her own fancy, and she'll never say a word to you from morning to night.