Last week, we left Henry and Maria on their honeymoon. The gilt was already beginning to wear off the gingerbread. Now they have set up house together, but they don't look very happy.
An Evening tête a tête you next shall see,
No friendly chat succeeds departed Tea,
Blue burn the Candles and the Nymph looks blue,
And rumination serves them but to rue
No more a social walk the morn employs
A greasy novel constitutes her joys
While he poor soul condemned alone to saunter
Dines with some friend & empties his decanter.
Returned at eve, unnumbered queries wait him,
And she who loved so late appears to hate him;
From trifles light as air, the quarrel swells,
The husband bullies and the wife rebels.
Fierce and more fierce, the wordy contest grows,
Taunts, gibes and sneers, and every thing but blows;
Each to a separate couch in rage retires,
Whence sleep is banished by vexatious fire.