University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

—An apartment in Fairford's house. A table with papers, parchments, &c.
Fairford, and Codicil his lawyer, discovered at table.
FAIRFORD.
There, there, friend Codicil, dash on! dash on!
My meaning's clear enough till you explain it,
And talk yourself and me into a puzzle.

CODICIL.
Who talks but you? And whilst your clack is going
Thirteen to the dozen, who the plague can write?

FAIRFORD.
Call you this writing? Foh! your curst law scratches
Won't give the honest alphabet fair play.
Look how you crook your rs, and twist the necks
Of your poor half-hang'd es, that look behind 'em
As if you'd set your bailiffs at their heels!
Come, where's this doughty deed of separation?

CODICIL.
Why, here it is; but what use is it of?
You'll not enforce it.

FAIRFORD.
Yes, I will.

CODICIL.
You won't,
I know you won't, and so I plainly tell you:
You let that Heartright fob you of your mortgage:
Every man draws a needle through your nose.

FAIRFORD.
What's this you've given me? This is not the deed;
This is my will. You've caught the unclean beast
By the wrong ear; you're puzzled.

CODICIL.
Well I may—You are enough to puzzle any man,
Blustering and bouncing—Here! we're right at last—
Give me your will—That may come into use
Some time or other, when you're dead and gone;
For die you must.

(They rise and come forward.)
FAIRFORD.
I do believe I must.
You're right, friend Codicil, you're very right;
You bring the pleasant recollection home:
And when the time comes, which you kindly hint at,
The will, perhaps, may be of use to some folks,—
Yourself, amongst the rest, if you survive me.
For I have tack'd a little rider to it,
In your behalf, for old acquaintance-sake;
Something to make your winter evenings merry.
So there is codicil for Codicil—
That is but fair, you'll say.

CODICIL.
I'll not say that.
I'm not of your opinion, Mr. Fairford.
I do not hold it for a lawyer's honour
To have his name found in his client's will.
Leave me your snuff-box, or your walking-stick—
I'll take a token from you—nothing more.

FAIRFORD.
I wou'd I had my walking-stick just now;
You well deserve it.

CODICIL.
I don't care for that.
You've ever been my friend, and that's enough.

FAIRFORD.
I was all that when I was nothing else;
It wou'd be shameful were I less your friend
When I've more means to be so. But, no matter;
You are a mule, a veritable mule,
And, thanks to Nature, generation stops;
None of your cross-grain'd progeny will plague us.
Whence come you, sirrah?

Trevor enters.
TREVOR.
From my agent, sir,
Thanks to your bounty! Here is my commission.
I'm Ensign Trevor now.

FAIRFORD.
Pshaw! Ensign Trevor!
I would have put you in a way to thrive—
Made you a merchant.—Would you think it, sir?
This fellow had no taste for Russia duck,
Hemp, pot-ash, pickled sturgeon, linen rags,
And such nice wares as wou'd have quickly made him
A prancing trader. He must be a soldier,
And honourably starve on ensign's pay.
So, let him go! I've done with you for ever:
Go to your cousin; put on your red coat,
(I know you have your regimentals ready)
And let her see how clownish and how clumsy
A Russian bear shows in a lion's skin.

TREVOR.
Very well, uncle! You and I have fac'd
The north-sea storm, when not a rag of sail
Clung to the yard; you did not find me then
A man unfit for service, or afraid
To look upon a sight more terrible
Than armies can present: so launch your joke;
Your Russian bear may with the lion's skin
Possess the lion's heart. This I will promise,
Go where he will, your bear sha'n't shame his leader.

[Exit.
CODICIL.
That's a brave boy; he charms me, and behold!
He pumps the water up into your eyes.

FAIRFORD.
No, no; they're weak, they're wat'ry. Come, I'll go
And see Louisa.—Pshaw! what ails my eyes?

[Exeunt.