Mrs. Sul. Nay, now, you 're angry, sir. [449]
Count Bel. Angry!—Fair Dorinda [Sings 'Fair Dorinda,' the opera tune, and addresses Dorinda.] Madam, when your ladyship want a fool, send for me. Fair Dorinda, Revenge, etc, [Exit singing.
Mrs. Sul. There goes the true humour of his nation— resentment with good manners, and the height of anger in a song! Well, sister, you must be judge, for you have heard the trial.
Dor. And I bring in my brother guilty.
Mrs. Sul. But I must bear the punishment. Tis hard, sister. [460]
Dor. I own it; but you must have patience.
Mrs. Sul. Patience! the cant of custom—Providence sends no evil without a remedy. Should I lie groaning under a yoke I can shake off, I were accessory to my ruin, and my patience were no better than self-murder.
Dor. But how can you shake off the yoke? your divisions don't come within the reach of the law for a divorce.
Mrs. Sul. Law! what law can search into the remote abyss of nature? what evidence can prove the unaccountable disaffections of wedlock? Can a jury sum up the endless aversions that are rooted in our souls, or can a bench give judgment upon antipathies? [474]
Dor. They never pretended, sister; they never meddle, but in case of uncleanness.