Lady F. Indeed you shan’t.

     Lady B. Indeed I will.

     Lady F. Indeed you shan’t, indeed, indeed, indeed you shan’t.
     (Exit running.)

The aversions and disputes of husbands and wives furnish the subject of some of his humour.  Sir John Brute says:—­

     “Sure if women had been ready created, the devil instead of being
     kicked down in hell had been married.”

     Lady Brute. Are you afraid of being in love, Sir?

     Heartfree. I should if there were any danger of it.

     Lady B. Pray, why so?

     Heart. Because I always had an aversion to being used like a dog.

     Belinda. Why truly, men in love are seldom used much better.

     Lady B. But were you never in love, Sir?

Heart. No, I thank heaven, madam.

Bel. Pray, where got you your learning then?

Heart. From other people’s expense.

Bel. That’s being a spunger, Sir, which is scarce honest.  If
you’d buy some experience with your own money, as ’twould be
fairlier got, so ’twould stick longer by you.

* * * * *

Berinthia. Ah, Amanda, it’s a delicious thing to be a young
widow!

Aman. You’ll hardly make me think so.

Ber. Phu! because you are in love with your husband; but that is
not every woman’s case.

Aman. I hope ’twas yours at least.

     Ber. Mine, say ye?  Now I have a great mind to tell you a lie, but
     I should do it so awkwardly you’d find me out.

     Aman. Then e’en speak the truth.

     Ber. Shall I?  Then after all, I did love him, Amanda, as a man
     does penance.

     Aman. Why did you not refuse to marry him, then?

     Ber. Because my mother would have whipped me.

     Aman. How did you live together?

Ber. Like man and wife—­asunder.  He loved the country, I the town.  He hawks and hounds, I coaches and equipage.  He eating and drinking, I carding and playing.  He the sound of a horn, I the squeak of a fiddle.  Whenever we met we gave one another the spleen.

     Aman. But tell me one thing truly and sincerely.

     Ber. What’s that?

     Aman. Notwithstanding all these jars, did not his death at last
     extremely trouble you?

     Ber. O, yes.  Not that my present pangs were so very violent, but
     the after pangs were intolerable.  I was forced to wear a beastly
     widow’s band a twelvemonth for ’t.

In the “Journey to London,” written at the end of Vanbrugh’s life, and not finished, there is a very amusing account of the manner in which a country squire and family travelled up to London in the seventeenth century.