LADY G. See, Miss Byron!—How captious!—Lord G—— ought to have a termagant wife: one who could return rage for rage. Meekness is my crime.—I cannot be put out of temper.—Meekness was never before attributed to woman as a fault.
LORD G. Good God!—Meekness!—Good God!
LADY G. But, Harriet, do you judge on which side the grievance lies.— Lord G—— presents me with a face for his, that I never saw him wear before marriage: He has cheated me, therefore. I shew him the same face that I ever wore, and treat him pretty much in the same manner (or I am mistaken) that I ever did: and what reason can he give, that will not demonstrate him to be the most ungrateful of men, for the airs he gives himself? Airs that he would not have presumed to put on eight days ago. Who then, Harriet, has reason to complain of grievance; my lord, or I?
LORD G. You see, Miss Byron—Can there be any arguing with a woman who knows herself to be in jest, in all she says?
HAR. Why then, my lord, make a jest of it. What will not bear an argument, will not be worth one's anger.
LORD G. I leave it to Miss Byron, Lady G——, to decide between us, as she pleases.
LADY G. You'd better leave it to me, sir.
HAR. Do, my lord.
LORD G. Well, madam!—And what is your decree?
LADY G. You, Miss Byron, had best be Lady Chancellor, after all. I should not bear to have my decree disputed, after it is pronounced.