Acr. Odds bullets, no!—by my valor! here is no merit in killing him so near! Do, my dear Sir Lucius, let me bring him down at a long shot:—a long shot, Sir Lucius, if you love me!
Sir L. Well, the gentlemen’s friend and I must settle that. But tell me now, Mr. Acres, in case of an accident, is there any little will or commission I could execute for you?
Acr. I am much obliged to you, Sir Lucius—but I don’t understand—
Sir L. Why, you may think there’s no being shot at without a little risk; and if an unlucky bullet should carry a quietus with it—I say it will be no time then to be bothering you about family matters.
Acr. A quietus!
Sir L. For instance, now—if that should be the case—would you choose to be pickled and sent home?—or would it be the same to you to lie here in the Abbey?—I’m told there is very snug lying in the Abbey.
Acr. Pickled!—Snugly in the Abbey!—Odds tremors! Sir Lucius, don’t talk so!
Sir L. I suppose, Mr. Acres, you never were engaged in an affair of this kind before.
Acr. No, Sir Lucius, never before.