Susan. “Consequently, that in less than twenty-four hours, my very tender submissive, ardent Lover may be metamorphosed into an arbitrary, cold, haughty Husband.
Figaro. “Impossible!—Impossible, my Susan! As it is for thee, my gentle, kind, and beauteous Bride, to be transformed into an ill-tempered, extravagant slatternly Wife.
Susan. “I understand thee”—Well, Well—We will endeavour to convert the iron Bands of Matrimony into a flowery Wreath which Love shall teach us to bear lightly and joyously through Life.
Figaro. Aye, and thus live a happy Exception to the established usage of a mad World.
Susan. But prithee, who is to go disguised and meet the Count?
Figaro. Who?—Nobody—Let him wait and fret, and bite his Nails—I never meant thou shouldst go.
Susan. I assure thee I never had any inclination.
Figaro. “Is that the real Truth, Susan?”
Susan. “What! Thinkest thou I am as learned as thou art? And that I keep several sorts of Truths?”