indifference.
] Courtship is matrimony's running footman, but seldom stays to see the stocking thrown; it is too often carried away by the two grand preservatives of matrimonial
friendship, delicacy and gratitude. There is also another distemper very mortal to the honeymoon; 'tis what the ladies sometimes are seized with, and the college of physicians call it by this title—[
Shews the girdle of the sullens.
]
This distemper generally arises from some ill-conditioned speech, with which the lady has been hurt; who then, leaning on her elbow upon the arm-chair, her cheek resting upon the back of her hand, her eyes fixed earnestly upon the fire, her feet beating tattoo time: the husband in the mean while biting his lips, pulling down his ruffles, stamping about the room, and looking at his lady
like the devil: at last he abruptly demands of her her,
"What's the matter with you, madam?"
The lady mildly replies,
"Nothing."
"What is it you mean, madam?"
"Nothing."
"What would you make me, madam?"
"Nothing."
"What is it I have done to you, madam?"
"O—h—nothing." And this quarrel arose as they sat at breakfast. The lady very innocently observed, she believed the tea was made with Thames water. The husband, in mere contradiction, insisted upon it that the tea-kettle was filled out of the New River.
From a scene of matrimonial tumult here is one of matrimonial tranquillity. [
Matrimonial picture brought on, and you go forward.
] Here is an after-dinner wedlock
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