Sir Har. Nay, if you come to your items—look ye, Mr. Tipkin, this is an inventory of such goods as were left to my niece, Bridget, by her deceased father, and which I expect shall be forthcoming at her marriage to my son: Imprimis, "a golden locket of her mother's, with something very ingenious in Latin on the inside of it"; item, "a couple of muskets, with two shoulder-belts and bandoleers"; item, "a large silver caudle-cup, with a true story engraven on it."
Pounce. But, Sir Harry——
Sir Har. Item, "a bass viol, with almost all the strings to it, and only a small hole on the back."
Pounce. But nevertheless, sir——
Sir Har. This is the furniture of my brother's bedchamber that follows:—"A suite of tapestry hangings, with the story of Judith and Holofernes, torn only where the head should have been off; an old bedstead, curiously wrought about the posts, consisting of two load of timber; a hone, a basin, three razors, and a comb-case"—Look ye, sir, you see I can item it.
Pounce. Alas, Sir Harry, if you had ten quire of items, 'tis all answered in the word retrospect.
Sir Har. Why then, Mr. Pounce and Mr. Tipkin, you are both rascals.
Tip. Do you call me rascal, Sir Harry?
Sir Har. Yes, sir.