Husb.—Prithee, don't trouble me.
Wife.—I will know what is the matter
Husb.—I tell you nothing is the matter—what should be the matter?
Wife.—Come, my dear, I must not be put off so; I am sure, if it be any thing ill, I must have my share of it; and why should I not be worthy to know it, whatever it is, before it comes upon me.
Husb.—Poor woman! [He kisses her.]
Wife.—Well, but let me know what it is; come, don't distract yourself alone; let me bear a share of your grief, as well as I have shared in your joy.
Husb.—My dear, let me alone, you trouble me now, indeed.
[Still he keeps her off.]
Wife.—Then you will not trust your wife with knowing what touches you so sensibly?
Husb.—I tell you, it is nothing, it is a trifle, it is not worth talking of.