SGAN. (_Snatching the portrait from her_). What, hussey! have I
caught you in the very act, slandering your honourable and darling
husband? According to you, most worthy spouse, and everything well
considered, the husband is not as good as the wife? In Beelzebub's name
(and may he fly away with you), what better match could you wish for?
Is there any fault to be found with me? It seems that this shape, this
air, which everybody admires; this face, so fit to inspire love, for
which a thousand fair ones sigh both night and day; in a word, my own
delightful self, by no manner of means pleases you. Moreover, to satisfy
your ravenous appetite you add to the husband the relish of a gallant.

SGAN.'S WIFE. I see plainly the drift of your jocular remarks, though
you do not clearly express yourself. You expect by these means...

SGAN. Try to impose upon others, not upon me, I pray you. The fact
is evident; I have in my hands a convincing proof of the injury I
complain of.

SGAN.'S WIFE. I am already too angry, and do not wish you to make me
more so by any fresh insult. Hark ye, do not imagine that you shall keep
this pretty thing; consider...

SGAN. I am seriously considering whether I shall break your neck.
I wish I had but the original of this portrait in my power as much
as I have the copy.

SGAN.'S WIFE. Why?

SGAN. For nothing at all, dear, sweet object of my love! I am very wrong