‘Thou hast left this matter short, said my uncle Toby to the
corporal, as he was putting him to bed,——and I will tell thee
in what, Trim.——In the first place, when thou madest an offer
of my services to Le Fever,—as sickness and travelling are
both expensive, and thou knowest he was but a poor lieutenant,
with a son to subsist as well as himself, out of his pay,—that
thou didst not make an offer to him of my purse; because, had
he stood in need, thou knowest, Trim, he had been as welcome
to it as myself.——Your honour knows, said the corporal, I had
no orders;——True, quoth my uncle Toby,—thou didst very right,
Trim, as a soldier, but certainly very wrong as a man.
‘In the second place, for which, indeed, thou hast the same
excuse, continued my uncle Toby,——when thou offeredst him
whatever was in my house,—thou shouldst have offered him
my house too:——A sick brother officer should have the best
quarters, Trim, and if we had him with us,—we could tend and
look to him:——Thou art an excellent nurse thyself, Trim,—and
what with thy care of him, and the old woman’s, and his boy’s,
and mine together, we might recruit him again at once, and set
him upon his legs.——
‘——In a fortnight or three weeks, added my uncle Toby,
smiling,—he might march.——He will never march, an’ please your
honour, in this world, said the corporal:——He will march, said
my uncle Toby, rising up from the side of the bed, with one
shoe off:——An’ please your honour, said the corporal, he will
never march, but to his grave:——He shall march, cried my uncle
Toby, marching the foot which had a shoe on, though without
advancing an inch,—he shall march to his regiment.——He cannot
stand it, said the corporal:——He shall be supported, said my
uncle Toby:——He’ll drop at last, said the corporal, and what
will become of his boy?——He shall not drop, said my uncle Toby,
firmly.——A-well-o’day,—do what we can for him, said Trim,
maintaining his point,—the poor soul will die:——He shall not
die, by G—! cried my uncle Toby.
‘—The ACCUSING SPIRIT, which flew up to heaven’s chancery with
the oath, blush’d as he gave it in;—and the RECORDING ANGEL, as
he wrote it down, dropp’d a tear upon the word, and blotted it
out for ever.
‘—My uncle Toby went to his bureau,—put his purse into his
breeches pocket, and having ordered the corporal to go early in
the morning for a physician,—he went to bed, and fell asleep.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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