“What I am going to bequeath, When this frail part submits to death; But still I hope the spark divine With its congenial stars will shine: My good executors fulfil, I pray ye, fairly, my last will, With first and second codicil!... Unto my nephew, Robert Longdon, Of whom none says he e’er has wrong done; Tho’ civil law he loves to hash, I give two hundred pounds in cash.... To Sally Crouch and Mary Lee, If they with Lady Poulet be, Because they round the year did dwell In Twick’nham House, and served full well, When Lord and Lady both did stray Over the hills and far away; The first ten pounds, the other twenty, And, girls, I hope that will content ye. In seventeen hundred and sixty-nine, This with my hand I write and sign; The sixteenth day of fair October, In merry mood, but sound and sober; Past my threescore and fifteenth year, With spirits gay and conscience clear; Joyous and frolicksome, tho’ old, And, like this day, serene but cold; To foes well-wishing, and to friends most kind, In perfect charity with all mankind.” More modern, but in its touches of human nature not of this age only, is the will of one Sarah Smith. “I, Sarah Smith, a spinster lone, With little here to call my own, Few friends to weep at my decease, Or pray my soul may rest in peace, Do make my last and only will, (Unless I add a codicil,) My brother Sam to see it done For he’s the right and proper one. I give the kettle that I use At tea-time, and the little cruse That holds hot posset for a guest To Martha, for she’s homeliest; Perhaps she’d like the picture too In needlework of Auntie Loo (So like her,) and of Uncle Jim, She always was so fond of him. Then there’s the parlour chair and table, I give them both to you, dear Mabel, With love, and when you sit thereat Remember there your Sarah sat. My poor old spectacles will be More use to you, alas, than me, So take them, Polly, and they may Perhaps sometimes at close of day Grow dim when memories arise Of how they suited Sally’s eyes. Pussy will not be with you long, But while she lives do her no wrong, A mug of milk beside the fire Will be the most that she’ll desire. There’s little else I have to mention, For, when I’ve spent my old-age pension, Not many crowns disturb my sleep, But what there is is Sam’s to keep: He’s been a brother kind and good In all my days of solitude. And so farewell: no word of ill Shall stain my last and only will; But, friends, be just and gentle with The memory of Sarah Smith.”