SWEET. What a treasure you have in that woman, Short—she is a perfect pattern—a model—an incomparable model of conjugal devotedness. It’s a good thing for you I didn’t see her first. (sits on sofa, C.)
SHORT. My dear friend, women are neither more nor less than what we make them, at least in marriage. Louisa was not always the docile obedient wife you now see her, not of course till all the tomfoolery of the honeymoon was over, and I began to take the proper tone.
SWEET. (rises) Ah, why didn’t I take the proper tone.
SHORT. Exactly. (rises) But it requires a peculiar tact—the method of proceeding, I believe, is a secret not possessed by all.
SWEET. Take pity on me, Short—tell it me—show me how you do it, and you’ll bind me to you for life.
SHORT. You want firmness—you give way—and when once a married man, you know, allows two voices in his house, it soon ends in there being only one, and, you’ll excuse me, Sweet, the result is, he is led by the nose by his own wife, as “Iago” says in the play, “as tenderly as asses are.”
SWEET. Yes, I am afraid I have been a very great ass, but shall I suffer this state of things to go on till I become the laughing stock of all my friends? No, never! I can’t sleep at nights for thinking of the difference between your wife and mine. Zounds! I’m resolved I won’t put up with it any longer! I’ll be as much master in my own house as you are—every jot as much. Who the devil are you that you should carry it over me in this sort of way? Do you hear what I say, Short? I insist upon being as much minded as you are, sir? I insist upon it! What can I do to show my authority? I have it! I won’t go to the opera to-night!—I won’t dine at Billington’s—what do I care for his mock turtle!—d—n his milk punch! I know she has set her heart upon it, but I won’t go. There’ll be a precious kick up. She’ll fly into a passion—fall a crying—perhaps, have a fit—and shall I give way? No, I’ll stand like a rock!
SHORT. Well said! bravo! but you’ll be sure to give in again.
SWEET. Give in—you shall see!