Cur. I hope the ’Squire is well to-day.
’Squire. Pretty comfortable for an invalid.
Swipes. I trust the damp air has not affected your lungs.
’Squire. No, I believe not. You know I never hurry. Slow and sure is my maxim. Well, since the heirs-at-law are all convened, I shall proceed to open the last will and testament of your deceased relative, according to law.
Swipes. (While the ’Squire is breaking the seal.) It is a trying scene to leave all one’s possessions, ’Squire, in this manner!
Cur. It really makes me feel melancholy when I look round and see everything but the venerable owner of these goods. Well did the preacher say, All is vanity!
’Squire. Please to be seated, gentlemen.
(All sit.—The ’Squire puts on his spectacles, and reads slowly.) “Imprimis: Whereas my nephew, Francis Millington, by his disobedience and ungrateful conduct, has shown himself unworthy of my bounty, and incapable of managing my large estate, I do hereby give and bequeath all my houses, farms, stocks, bonds, moneys and property, both personal and real, to my dear cousins, Samuel Swipes, of Malt street, brewer, and Christopher Currie, of Fly Court, saddler.” (’Squire takes off his spectacles to wipe them.)
Swipes. (Dreadfully overcome.) Generous creature! kind soul! I always loved her.