Lewis. Why a live man is as easily declared to be dead, as a man in his senses to be mad; and if he should make his appearance, you can secure him again.
Counsellor. No! who would do that?
Lewis. Zounds! what a tender conscience! If my uncle could be declared mad, by your good-nature, that you might shew your Christian charity, in managing his estate, I am sure your noble heart would have no scruple to advance a part of the inheritance to the lawful heir.
Counsellor. My dear friend, your expressions are so harsh—so——
Lewis. His madness was not so very clear. The old fellow was reasonable enough at times.
Counsellor. Quite out of his senses, I assure you: mad as a March hare.
Lewis I don't know how—but indeed, I sometimes pity him.
Counsellor. It was the will of God.
Lewis. Oh, I have nothing to do with that: 'tis a subject too deep for me. But beware of my brother: he suspects foul play, and has spies drawn up every where.
Enter CHANCELLOR FLEFFEL.