Under. Sudden—ah! I’m always prepared for death.
Shears. Sign of a good liver.
Under. No tradesman within the bills of mortality lives better.
Shears. You’ve many customers then, sir?
Under. Not one breathing.
Shears. You disoblige them, perhaps?
Under. Why, the truth is, sir, tho’ my friends would die to serve me, yet I can’t keep one three days without turning up my nose at him—Od so! I forgot to take measure of the body.
Shears (aside). Oh, oh!—a brother tailor—you measure nobody here.
Under. Yes, I shall—Mr. Sandford’s body.
Shears. For what, pray?