(Enter BELLAIR, LUCY, Doctor LEATHERHEAD, and Mr. LITTLEWIT, [with] Pens, Ink, Papers, Candles, etc., etc.)
Shar. So Gentlemen, when I sent for you in the Morning, I was foolish enough to think of Marriage, but Heaven pardon me, I must now think of Death, of my poor precious Soul. I must desire you to get my Will ready as soon as possible, for I fear my poor fleeting Life is not worth half an Hour's purchase.
Doct. The sooner it is done, the better; it may procure you Ease and Consolation of mind.
Shar. Dear Doctor Leatherhead, hold your Tongue; the less you talk, the more it will be to the purpose, I am sure. Nephew, draw near. Lucy, take those Candles out of my Eyes, and shut that Door.
Lucy. Sir, my Lady Lovewealth has sent her Daughter to wait on you, and my Lady will be here herself immediately.
Shar. Very well, let my wife that was to be come up—and let her know how Affairs are, Lucy. (Aside to Lucy)(Exit Lucy)
Little. (At the Table writing) Um, um, Sir Isaac Skinflint of the Parish of um—sound sense—um weak in Body—uncertainty of human Life—um—last Will and Testament—Now Sir, we are ready; I have finished the Preamble.
Doct. But Sir Isaac, should not this Will be made in Private? We always choose to have as few Witnesses by as possible.
Shar. I believe you, Doctor Leatherhead, that they may produce the more Law Suits. Ay, ay, Doctor, I know the tricks of the Law; the more Grist, the more Toll for the Miller—but you shall not fill your Bags out of my Sack, you Harpies, you Cormorants, you Devourers! O you Bloodsuckers! Auh, auh!
Doct. I find Sir Isaac still the same Man.