Sir W. My wife is the very devil. It seems that she’d be miserable if she did not think me happy; yet her tenderness is my eternal torment; her affection puts me in a fidget, and her fondness in a fever.
Enter servant.
Serv. My lady says she wont detain you a moment, sir Willoughby. [Exit.
Sir W. The old answer. Then she’s so nervous. A nervous wife is worse than a perpetual blister; and then, as the man says in the play, your nervous patients are always ailing, but never die. Zounds! why do I bear it? ’tis my folly, my weakness, to dread the censure of the world, and to sacrifice every comfort of my fire side to the ideal advantage of being esteemed a good husband. (Lady Worret is heard speaking behind) Hark! now she begins her morning work, giving more orders in a minute than can be executed in a month, and teasing my daughter to death to teach her to keep her temper; yet every body congratulates me on having so good a wife; every body envies me so excellent an economist; every body thinks me the happiest man alive; and nobody knows what a miserable mortal I am.
Lady W. (behind) And harkye, William, (entering with servant) tell the coachman to bring the chariot in a quarter of an hour: and William, run with these books immediately to the rector’s; and William, bring up breakfast this moment.
Will. Yes, my lady: (aside) Lord have mercy upon us! [Exit.
Lady W. My dear sir Willoughby, I beg a thousand pardons; but you are always so indulgent that you really spoil me. I’m sure you think me a tiresome creature.
Sir W. No, no, my life, not at all. I should be very ungrateful if I didn’t value you just exactly as highly as you deserve.
Lady W. I certainly deserve a good scolding: I do indeed. I think if you scolded me a little I should behave better.
Sir W. Well, then, as you encourage me, my love, I must own that a little more punctuality would greatly heighten the zest of your society.