Bar.

     This fellow coins sure.

     Die.

     Give me some more drink.  Pray ye buy Books, buy Books,
     You have a learned head, stuff it with Libraries,
     And understand ’em, when ye have done, ’tis Justice. 
     Run not the Parish mad with Controversies,
     Nor preach Abstinence to longing Women,
     ’Twill burge the bottoms of their Consciences: 
     I would give the Church new Organs, but I prophesie
     The Church-wardens would quickly pipe ’em out o’th’ Parish,
     Two hundred Duckets more to mend the Chancel,
     And to paint true Orthographie, as many,
     They write Sunt with a C, which is abominable,
     ’Pray you set that down; to poor Maidens Marriages.

     Lop.

     I that’s well thought of, what’s your will in that point? 
     A meritorious thing.

     Bar.

     No end of this Will?

     Die.

     I give per annum two hundred Ells of Lockram,
     That there be no strait dealings in their Linnens,
     But the Sails cut according to their Burthens. 
     To all Bell-ringers, I bequeath new Ropes,
     And let them use ’em at their own discretions.

     Ars.

     You may remember us.

     Die.

     I do good Gentlemen,
     And I bequeath you both good careful Surgions,
     A Legacy, you have need of, more than mony,
     I know you want good Diets, and good Lotions,
     And in your pleasures, good take heed.

     Lop.

     He raves now,
     But ’twill be quickly off.

     Die.

     I do bequeath ye
     Commodities of Pins, Brown-papers, Pack-threads,
     Rost Pork, and Puddings, Ginger-bread, and Jews-trumps,
     Of penny Pipes, and mouldy Pepper, take ’em,
     Take ’em even where you please and be cozen’d with ’em,
     I should bequeath ye Executions also,
     But those I’le leave to th’ Law.

     Lop.

     Now he grows temperate.

     Bar.

     You will give no more?

     Die.

     I am loth to give more from ye,
     Because I know you will have a care to execute. 
     Only, to pious uses, Sir, a little.

     Bar.

     If he be worth all these, I am made for ever.

     Die.

     I give to fatal Dames, that spin mens threads out,
     And poor distressed Damsels, that are militant
     As members of our own Afflictions,
     A hundred Crowns to buy warm Tubs to work in,
     I give five hundred pounds to buy a Church-yard,
     A spacious Church-yard, to lay Thieves and Knaves in,
     Rich men and honest men take all the room up.