Croaker. May be not. Indeed what signifies whether they be perverted or not? The women in my time were good for something. I have seen a lady dressed from top to toe in her own manufactures formerly. But now-a-days the devil a thing of their own manufacture about them, except their faces.
Honeyw. But, however these faults may be practised abroad, you don't find them at home, either with Mrs. Croaker, Olivia, or Miss Richland.
Croaker. The best of them will never be canonised for a saint when she's dead. By the by, my dear friend, I don't find this match between Miss Richland and my son much relished, either by one side or t'other.
Honeyw. I thought otherwise.
Croaker. Ah, Mr. Honeywood, a little of your fine serious advice to the young lady might go far: I know she has a very exalted opinion of your understanding.
Honeyw. But would not that be usurping an authority that more properly belongs to yourself?
Croaker. My dear friend, you know but little of my authority at home. People think, indeed, because they see me come out in a morning thus, with a pleasant face, and to make my friends merry, that all's well within. But I have cares that would break a heart of stone. My wife has so encroached upon every one of my privileges, that I'm now no more than a mere lodger in my own house.
Honeyw. But a little spirit exerted on your side might perhaps restore your authority.
Croaker. No, though I had the spirit of a lion. I do rouse sometimes. But what then? always haggling and haggling. A man is tired of getting the better, before his wife is tired of losing the victory.
Honeyw. It's a melancholy consideration indeed, that our chief comforts often produce our greatest anxieties, and that an increase of our possessions is but an inlet to new disquietudes.