Married Life: A Comedy, in Three Acts

by John Baldwin Buckstone

Dis. You women always want the wing.

Mrs. Dis. I’m a wretched woman.

Mrs. Dove. My dear Henry, can’t you console poor Mrs. Dismal?

Dove. Oh yes, love! have a hapricot, Ma’am?

Mrs. Dove. An apricot—Henry, dear, you mis-apply your indefinite article.

Dove. Do I?—console the lady yourself, love.

Mrs. Dis. The fact is—I had no business to marry you.

Dis. Now you speak the truth, we both ought to have known better; when people have lived single for fifty years, they should learn to look on matrimony as a misery they have luckily escaped.

Mrs. Dis. You need not allude to my age, sir, before people.