Is—I’m alone—there’s nobody can come—
’Tis all his hand, no lawyer was employ’d
To write this prose, that ought to be destroy’d!
To no attorney would my father trust:
He wished his son to judge of what was just;
As if he said, ‘My boy will find the Will,
And, as he likes, destroy it or fulfil.’
This now is reason, this I understand—
What was at his, is now at my, command. 90
As for this paper, with these cousiny names,