And dust to dust convey’d in peace repos’d, He sought his father’s closet, search’d around, To find a Will: the important Will was found. 60 Well pleased he read, “These lands, this manor, all, Now call me master!—I obey the call.” Then from the window look’d the valley o’er, And never saw it look so rich before. He viewed the dairy, view’d the men at plough, } With other eyes, with other feelings now, } And with a new-formed taste found beauty in a cow. } The distant swain who drove the plough along Was a good useful slave, and passing strong! In short, the view was pleasing, nay, was fine: 70 “Good as my father’s, excellent as mine!” Again he reads—but he had read enough; What followed put his virtue to a proof. [How’s] this? to David Wright two thousand pounds! } A monstrous sum! beyond all reason!—zounds! } This is your friendship running out of bounds! } “Then here are cousins Susan, Robert, Joe— } Five hundred each. Do they deserve it? No! } Claim they have none—I wonder if they know } What the good man intended to bestow! 80} This might be paid—but Wright’s enormous sum Is—I’m alone—there’s nobody can come— ’Tis all his hand, no lawyer was employ’d To write this prose, that ought to be destroy’d! To no attorney would my father trust: He wished his son to judge of what was just; As if he said, ‘My boy will find the Will, And, as he likes, destroy it or fulfil.’ This now is reason, this I understand— What was at his, is now at my, command. 90 As for this paper, with these cousiny names, I—’tis _my_ Will—commit it to the flames. Hence! disappear! now am I lord alone: They’ll groan, I know; but, curse them, let them groan. Who wants his money like a new made heir, To put all things in order and repair? I need the whole the worthy man could save, To do my father credit in his grave: It takes no trifle to have squires convey’d To their last house with honour and parade. 100 All this, attended by a world of cost, Requires, demands, that nothing should be lost. These fond bequests cannot demanded be— Where no Will is, can be no legacy; And none is here! I safely swear it—none!— The very ashes are dispersed and gone. All would be well, would that same sober Friend, } That Wright, my father on his way attend; } My fears—but why afraid?—my troubles then would end.” } In triumph, yet in trouble, meets our Squire 110} The friends assembled, who a Will require. } “There is no Will,” he said.—They murmur and retire. } Days pass away, while yet the Heir is blest By pleasant cares, and thoughts that banish rest; When comes the Friend, and asks, in solemn tone, If he may see the busy Squire alone. They are in private—all about is still— When thus the Guest:—“Your father left a Will, And I would see it.”—Rising in reply,