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Says the good Director, pray to God to turn your Aversions into a just Affection to your Wife.
What, says the Gentleman, must I pray to God to make me love the Devil.
No, Sir, but to make you love your Wife; and if you lov'd her as you do her you lost, you would not see half so many Faults in her as you do now.
It is not to be done, says the Gentleman, 'tis against Nature. Was ever any Gentleman in love with a Monster? I might pray to God, indeed, to metamorphose her, to turn the Devil into an Angel, Deformity into Beauty, Black into White; but I have no Rule set me to authorize such a Petition.
You are sadly exasperated. Sir, against your Wife, says the good Man with a melancholy Air. Why! I have seen your Lady; she is no Monster, no deformed Person, no Blackmoor; 'tis very sad to hear you talk thus.
No, no; though she's far from a Beauty, says the Gentleman, yet she's no Monster, I don't mean so; but she's a Monster in her Condition; she has a deformed Mind, a black Soul; there's nothing in her but what would oblige a Man to hate her.
You don't love her, says the Minister, that's the greatest Misfortune of it all.
No, no, that's true, I don't love her to be sure, says the Gentleman, who could?
It is a dreadful thing, says the serious good Man, you should marry a Lady of Fortune, and have such an Aversion to her. You must of necessity. Sir, repent of it, and reform it, or it may Ruin you for ever.
Nay,
