Clar. Shall you be long, my dear, in your remonstrances?
Gripe. Yes, Madam, and very long.
Clar. If you would quarrel en abrêgé, I shou'd have a world of obligation to you.
Gripe. What I have to say, forsooth, is not to be expressed en abrêgé, my complaints are too numerous.
Clar. Complaints! of what my dear? have I ever given you subject of complaint, my life?
Gripe. O Pox! my dear and my life! I desire none of your tendres.
Clar. How! find fault with my kindness, and my expressions of affection and respect! the world will guess by this what the rest of your complaints may be. I must tell you, I am scandaliz'd at your procedure.
Gripe. I must tell you I am running mad with yours.
Clar. Ah! how insupportable are the humours of some husbands, so full of fancies, and so ungovernable: What have you in the world to disturb you?
Gripe. What have I to disturb me! I have you, Death and the Devil.