_Squire Sul_. And you, good sir? _Aim_. Thomas, Viscount Aimwell, come to take away your sister. _Squire Sul_. And you, pray, sir? _Arch_. Francis Archer, esquire, come---- _Squire Sul_. To take away my mother, I hope. Gentlemen, you 're heartily welcome; I never met with three more obliging people since I was born!-- And now, my dear, if you please, you shall have the first word. {231} _Arch_. And the last, for five pounds! _Mrs. Sul_. Spouse! _Squire Sul_. Rib! _Mrs. Sul_. How long have we been married? _Squire Sul_. By the almanac, fourteen months; but by my account, fourteen years. _Mrs. Sul_. 'Tis thereabout by my reckoning. _Count Bel_. Garzoon, their account will agree. _Mrs. Sul_. Pray, spouse, what did you marry for? {240} _Squire Sul_. To get an heir to my estate. _Sir Chas_. And have you succeeded? _Squire Sul_. No. _Arch_. The condition fails of his side.--Pray, madam, what did you marry for? _Mrs. Sul_. To support the weakness of my sex by the strength of his, and to enjoy the pleasures of an agreeable society. _Sir Chas_. Are your expectations answered? _Mrs. Sul_. No. {250} _Count Bel_. A clear case! a clear case! _Sir Chas_. What are the bars to your mutual contentment? _Mrs. Sul_. In the first place, I can't drink ale with him. _Squire Sul_. Nor can I drink tea with her. _Mrs. Sul_. I can't hunt with you. _Squire Sul_. Nor can I dance with you. _Mrs. Sul_. I hate cocking and racing. _Squire Sul_. And I abhor ombre and piquet. _Mrs. Sul_. Your silence is intolerable. _Squire Sul_. Your prating is worse. {260} _Mrs. Sul_. Have we not been a perpetual offence to each other? a gnawing vulture at the heart? _Squire Sul_. A frightful goblin to the sight? _Mrs. Sul_. A porcupine to the feeling? _Squire Sul_. Perpetual wormwood to the taste? _Mrs. Sul_. Is there on earth a thing we could agree in? _Squire Sul_. Yes--to part. _Mrs. Sul_. With all my heart _Squire Sul_. Your hand. _Mrs. Sul_. Here. {270} _Squire Sul_. These hands joined us, these shall part us. --Away! _Mrs. Sul_. North _Squire Sul_. South. _Mrs. Sul_. East. _Squire Sul_. West--far as the poles asunder. _Count Bel_. Begar, the ceremony be vera pretty! _Sir Chas_. Now, Mr. Sullen, there wants only my sister's fortune to make us easy. _Squire Sul_. Sir Charles, you love your sister, and I love her fortune; every one to his fancy. {281} _Arch_. Then you won't refund; _Squire Sul_. Not a stiver. _Arch_. Then I find, madam, you must e'en go to your prison again. _Count Bel_. What is the portion? _Sir Chas_. Ten thousand pounds, sir. _Count Bel_. Garzoon, I 'll pay it, and she shall go home wid me. {289} _Arch_. Ha! ha! ha! French all over.-- Do you know, sir, what ten thousand pounds English is? _Count Bel_. No, begar, not justement.