_Oriana._ But, sweet sir, there is such a thing as alimony! so divorce on, and spare not. [_Exit._ _Y. Mir._ Ay, that separate maintenance is the devil--there's their refuge!--O' my conscience, one would take cuckoldom for a meritorious action, because the women are so handsomely rewarded for it. [_Exit._ _Enter_ DURETETE _and_ PETIT. _Dur._ And she's mighty peevish, you say? _Petit._ O sir, she has a tongue as long as my leg, and talks so crabbedly, you would think she always spoke Welsh. _Dur._ That's an odd language, methinks, for her philosophy. _Petit._ But sometimes she will sit you half a day without speaking a word, and talk oracles all the while by the wrinkles of her forehead, and the motions of her eyebrows. _Dur._ Nay, I shall match her in philosophical ogles, 'faith!--that's my talent: I can talk best, you must know, when I say nothing. _Petit._ But d'ye ever laugh, sir? _Dur._ Laugh? Won't she endure laughing? _Petit._ Why, she's a critic, sir, she hates a jest, for fear it should please her; and nothing keeps her in humour, but what gives her the spleen.--And then, for logic, and all that, you know---- _Dur._ Ay, ay, I'm prepared, I have been practising hard words and no sense, this hour, to entertain her. _Petit._ Then place yourself behind this screen, that you may have a view of her behaviour before you begin. _Dur._ I long to engage her, lest I should forget my lesson. _Petit._ Here she comes, sir--I must fly. [_Exit_ PETIT, _and_ DURETETE _stands peeping behind the Curtain_. _Enter_ BISARRE _and_ MAID. _Bis._ [_With a Book._] Pshaw! hang books! they sour our temper, spoil our eyes, and ruin our complexions. [_Throws away the Book._ _Dur._ Eh? the devil such a word there is in all Aristotle! _Bis._ Come, wench, let's be free--call in the fiddle, there's nobody near us. _Dur._ 'Would to the Lord there was not! _Bis._ Here, friend, a minuet----[_Music._] Quicker time--ha--'would we had a man or two! _Dur._ [_Stealing away._] You shall have the devil sooner, my dear, dancing philosopher! _Bis._ Uds my life!--Here's one! [_Runs to_ DURETETE, _and hales him back_. _Dur._ Is all my learned preparation come to this? _Bis._ Come, sir, don't be ashamed, that's my good boy--you're very welcome, we wanted such a one--Come, strike up--[_Dance._] I know you dance well, sir, you're finely shaped for't--Come, come, sir;--quick, quick! you miss the time else. _Dur._ But, madam, I come to talk with you. _Bis._ Ay, ay, talk as you dance, talk as you dance,--come. _Dur._ But we were talking of dialectics-- _Bis._ Hang dialectics! [_Music._] Mind the time----quicker, sirrah! --Come--and how d'ye find yourself now, sir? _Dur._ In a fine breathing sweat, Doctor.