And suppose A, the miser, has such an opinion of B, the wanter, that he
would rather lend it to him, than to any mortal living; but yet,
though he has no other use in the world for it, insists upon very
unconscionable terms.
B would gladly pay common interest for it; but would be undone, (in his
own opinion at least, and that is every thing to him,) if he
complied with the miser's terms; since he would be sure to be soon
thrown into gaol for the debt, and made a prisoner for life.
Wherefore guessing (being an arch, penetrating fellow) where the
sweet hoard lies, he searches for it, when the miser is in a
profound sleep, finds it, and runs away with it.
[B, in this case, can only be a thief, that's plain, Jack.]
Here Miss Montague put in very smartly.—A thief, Sir, said she, that steals what is and ought to be dearer to me than my life, deserves less to be forgiven than he who murders me.
But what is this, cousin Charlotte, said I, that is dearer to you than your life? Your honour, you'll say—I will not talk to a lady (I never did) in a way she cannot answer me—But in the instance for which I put my case, (allowing all you attribute to the phantom) what honour is lost, where the will is not violated, and the person cannot help it? But, with respect to the case put, how knew we, till the theft was committed, that the miser did actually set so romantic a value upon the treasure?
Both my cousins were silent; and my Lord, because he could not answer me, cursed me; and I proceeded.
Well then, the result is, that B can only be a thief; that's plain.—To pursue, therefore, my case—
Suppose this same miserly A, on awaking and searching for, and finding
his treasure gone, takes it so much to heart that he starves
himself;
Who but himself is to blame for that?—Would either equity, law, or
conscience, hang B for a murder?
And now to apply, said I——