Mrs. Sul. But I can't, sir.
Sul. Then you may let it alone.
Mrs. Sul. But I must tell you, sir, that this is not to be borne.
Sul. I'm glad on't.
Mrs. Sul. What is the reason, sir, that you use me thus inhumanly?
Sul. Scrub!
Scrub. Sir!
Sul. Get things ready to shave my head. [Exit.
Mrs. Sul. Have a care of coming near his temples, Scrub, for fear you meet something there that may turn the edge of your razor. [Exit Scrub.] Inveterate stupidity! did you ever know so hard, so obstinate a spleen as his? O sister, sister! I shall never have good of the beast till I get him to town; London, dear London, is the place for managing and breaking a husband.
Dor. And has not a husband the same opportunities there for humbling a wife?