The Esteemed Mr. Bumble on the matter of loving marriages

Well my dears, I am quite the expert on marraige. After all, I am married to Mrs. Bubmble, ain't I? I wooed her and won her fair heart sitting next to her fire and counting her dishes. Now, my dears, that is the way to win a woman, not all this fluff about havin' a title to offer, which Mr. Browning seems to think quite important in "My Last Duchess," eh? No no no. None of this disobedience on the part of the Duchess and there must certainly be no "spots of joy" in her cheeks. Even if she does go fishing for compliments from Pandolf the painter, she should not revel in them, eh my dears? The Duchess finally wakes up at the end of the poem and stops smiling and takes her husband's commands, as she rightly should, eh? The law says that a woman should take direction under her husband, right my dears? This Duchess should not be threatening the poor Duke's enviable manhood by treating his 900-year-old title as a trifle, eh? We men do not stand for wives as such who go about threatin' our manhood. Just ask Mrs. Bumble, my dears. I should let her read this poem as a warning of what may become of her someday if she doesn't cooperate with me, eh my dears? She may end up in a fair painting on my wall, for all the parochials to come by and admire.