_Mrs. Sul_. Because they wanted money, child, to find out the pleasures of the town. Did you ever see a poet or philosopher worth ten thousand pounds? if you can show me such a man, I 'll lay you fifty pounds you'll find him somewhere within the weekly bills. Not that I disapprove rural pleasures, as the poets have painted them; in their landscape, every Phillis has her Corydon, every murmuring stream, and every flowery mead, gives fresh alarms to love. Besides, you'll find, that their couples were never married:--but yonder I see my Corydon, and a sweet swain it is, Heaven knows! Come, Dorinda, don't be angry, he's my husband, and your brother; and, between both, is he not a sad brute? {62} _Dor_. I have nothing to say to your part of him, you 're the best judge. _Mrs. Sul_. O sister, sister! if ever you marry, beware of a sullen, silent sot, one that's always musing, but never thinks. There's some diversion in a talking blockhead; and since a woman must wear chains, I would have the pleasure of hearing 'em rattle a little. Now you shall see, but take this by the way. He came home this morning at his usual hour of four, wakened me out of a sweet dream of something else, by tumbling over the tea-table, which he broke all to pieces; after his man and he had rolled about the room, like sick passengers in a storm, he comes flounce into bed, dead as a salmon into a fishmonger's basket; his feet cold as ice, his breath hot as a furnace, and his hands and his face as greasy as his flannel night-cap. O matrimony! He tosses up the clothes with a barbarous swing over his shoulders, disorders the whole economy of my bed, leaves me half naked, and my whole night's comfort is the tuneable serenade of that wakeful nightingale, his nose! Oh, the pleasure of counting the melancholy clock by a snoring husband! But now, sister, you shall see how handsomely, being a well-bred man, he will beg my pardon. {87} _Enter Squire Sullen_. _Squire Sul_. My head aches consumedly. _Mrs. Sul_. Will you be pleased, my dear, to drink tea with us this morning? it may do your head good. _Squire Sul_. No. _Dor_. Coffee, brother? _Squire Sul_. Psha! _Mrs. Sul_. Will you please to dress, and go to church with me? the air may help you. _Squire Sul_. Scrub! [_Calls_. _Enter Scrub_. _Scrub_. Sir! _Squire Sul_. What day o' th' week is this? _Scrub_. Sunday, an't please your worship. {99} _Squire Sul_. Sunday! bring me a dram; and d'ye hear, set out the venison-pasty, and a tankard of strong beer upon the hall-table, I 'll go to breakfast [_Going_. _Dor_. Stay, stay, brother, you shan't get off so; you were very naught last night, and must make your wife reparation; come, come, brother, won't you ask pardon? _Squire Sul_. For what? _Dor_. For being drunk last night. _Squire Sul_. I can afford it, can't I? {109} _Mrs. Sul_. But I can't, sir.