MEGAERA. A man ought to think of his wife sometimes.

ANDROCLES. He can't always help it, dear. You make me think of
you a good deal. Not that I blame you.

MEGAERA. Blame me! I should think not indeed. Is it my fault that
I'm married to you?

ANDROCLES. No, dear: that is my fault.

MEGAERA. That's a nice thing to say to me. Aren't you happy with
me?

ANDROCLES. I don't complain, my love.

MEGAERA. You ought to be ashamed of yourself.

ANDROCLES. I am, my dear.

MEGAERA. You're not: you glory in it.

ANDROCLES. In what, darling?

MEGAERA. In everything. In making me a slave, and making yourself
a laughing-stock. Its not fair. You get me the name of being a
shrew with your meek ways, always talking as if butter wouldn't
melt in your mouth. And just because I look a big strong woman,
and because I'm good-hearted and a bit hasty, and because you're
always driving me to do things I'm sorry for afterwards, people
say "Poor man: what a life his wife leads him!" Oh, if they only