Clar. So, my dear, let what Flippanta says content you. Go, my life, trouble yourself with nothing, but let me do just as I please, and all will be well. I'm going into my closet, to consider of some more things to enable me to give you the pleasure of my company at home, without making it too great a misery to a yielding wife.
[Exit Clarissa.
Flip. Mirror of goodness! Pattern to all wives! well sure, Sir, you are the happiest of all husbands.
Gripe. Yes——and a miserable dog for all that too, perhaps.
Flip. Why, what can you ask more, than this matchless complaisance?
Gripe. I don't know what I can ask, and yet I'm not satisfy'd with what I have neither, the devil mixes in it all, I think; complaisant or perverse, it feels just as it did.
Flip. Why then your uneasiness is only a disease, Sir, perhaps a little bleeding and purging wou'd relieve you.
Clar. Flippanta?
[Clarissa calls within.
Flip. Madam calls. I come, Madam. Come, be merry, be merry, Sir, you have cause, take my word for't. Poor devil.