Lucy. We were afraid he would have gone off last night; he has had two of his Epileptic Feasts.
Shark. Why sure the old Cannibal would not offer to make his Exit without making his Will; that would ruin us all.
Lucy. Nay it would be a considerable Loss to me should he die without a Will: for you know he has promised me a handsome Legacy.
Shark. And so he has to Thousands, my Dear; why, Child, I don't believe he has spent thirty Shillings upon himself in Food for these thirty years; all gratis, all upon the Spunge. Ay, ay, let Sir Isaac Skinflint alone for mumping a Dinner. There has not been a Churchwarden's or an Overseer's Feast these twenty years but what he has been at. And when he is not at these Irish meals, he is preying upon his Friends and Acquaintances, and promises them all Legacies. "Well," he says, after he has filled his Paunch,—"I shall not forget you. I shall remember all my Friends. I have you down in my Will." Then he claps his hand upon the Servant's Head as he is going out—"I shall think of you too, John. You are my old Friend"—but the Devil a Louse he gives him; an old gouty Rogue! I'll warrant the old Hypocrite has promised more Legacies than the Bank of England is able to pay. Has he made any mention lately of his Nephew and Niece in the Country, Sir Roger Bumper and his Sister?
Lucy. He expects them in Town today, or tomorrow at farthest, and I believe he intends to make them joint Heirs with your Master.
Shark. He may intend it, but shall not accomplish it, take my word; if he does I'll never plot again. You say he has never seen neither the Nephew nor the Niece since they were Children?
Lucy. Never.
Shark. Then he shall see them in my proper Person before he sleeps, and if I don't make him disinherit them, say I am a Fool and know nothing of Mankind.
Lucy. Here your Master comes.
Shark. He's welcome.