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.