“You’ll cut him with a shilling,”
      Exclaimed the man of writs: 
    “I’ll leave my wealth,” said Brentford,
      “Sir Lawyer, as befits,
    And portion both their fortunes
      Unto their several wits.”

    “Your Grace knows best,” the lawyer said;
      “On your commands I wait.” 
    “Be silent, sir,” says Brentford,
      “A plague upon your prate! 
    Come take your pen and paper,
      And write as I dictate.”

    The will as Brentford spoke it
      Was writ and signed and closed;
    He bade the lawyer leave him,
      And turn’d him round and dozed;
    And next week in the churchyard
      The good old King reposed.

    Tom, dressed in crape and hatband,
      Of mourners was the chief;
    In bitter self-upbraidings
      Poor Edward showed his grief: 
    Tom hid his fat white countenance
      In his pocket-handkerchief.

    Ned’s eyes were full of weeping,
      He falter’d in his walk;
    Tom never shed a tear,
      But onwards he did stalk,
    As pompous, black, and solemn
      As any catafalque.

    And when the bones of Brentford—­
      That gentle King and just—­
    With bell and book and candle
      Were duly laid in dust,
    “Now, gentlemen,” says Thomas,
      “Let business be discussed.

    “When late our sire beloved
      Was taken deadly ill,
    Sir Lawyer, you attended him
      (I mean to tax your bill);
    And, as you signed and wrote it,
      I prithee read the will”

    The lawyer wiped his spectacles,
      And drew the parchment out;
    And all the Brentford family
      Sat eager round about: 
    Poor Ned was somewhat anxious,
      But Tom had ne’er a doubt.

    “My son, as I make ready
      To seek my last long home,
    Some cares I have for Neddy,
      But none for thee, my Tom: 
    Sobriety and order
      You ne’er departed from.

    “Ned hath a brilliant genius,
      And thou a plodding brain;
    On thee I think with pleasure,
      On him with doubt and pain.” 
    ("You see, good Ned,” says Thomas,
      “What he thought about us twain.”)

    “Though small was your allowance,
      You saved a little store;
    And those who save a little
      Shall get a plenty more.” 
    As the lawyer read this compliment,
      Tom’s eyes were running o’er.

    “The tortoise and the hare, Tom,
      Set out at each his pace;
    The hare it was the fleeter,
      The tortoise won the race;
    And since the world’s beginning
      This ever was the case.

    “Ned’s genius, blithe and singing,
      Steps gaily o’er the ground;
    As steadily you trudge it,
      He clears it with a bound;
    But dulness has stout legs, Tom,
      And wind that’s wondrous sound.