Shar. Sir, I beg you'll hold your Tongue. Say another word and I'll give him a thousand pounds per Annum.
Bell. Sir, I humbly beg Pardon. (Bowing very low)
Shar. Well, beg Pardon and be satisfied. I think you have reason—here I shall have you Master of six or seven thousand pounds per Annum, as you call it, and almost a Plumb and a half in ready Cole, and you are not satisfied; say one Word more and I'll tear my Will, or leave every Shilling to the Inhabitants of Bedlam or to the Man that finds out the Longitude.
Bell. I have done, Sir.
Shar. Pray then have done, Sir, and don't fret me.
Bell. An impudent Rogue, but I must not contend with him now. (Aside)
Shar. Lord, it is as much trouble to give away an Estate as to get it.
Doct. Mr. Bellair, you should not interrupt the Testator; at such a time his Mind should not be disturbed.
Shar. You are in the right, Doctor Leatherhead. Let me see, have I no Friend that I care to oblige with two or three thousand—I am in such a generous Temper that I don't care to leave off yet. I have a great Mind to give Shark a handful over, but——
Bell. Sir!