[110]
As your, what? said my father, for like all orators, he was a dear searcher into comparisons—Bless me, Sir, said Susannah, the child's in a fit—And where's Mr. Yorick—Never where he should be, said Susannah, but his curate's in the dressing-room, with the child upon his arm, waiting for the name—and my mistress bid me run as fast as I could to know, as captain Shandy is the godfather, whether it should not be called after him.
Were one sure, said my father to himself, scratching his eye-brow, that the child was expiring, one might as well compliment my brother Toby as not—and 'twould be a pity, in such a case, to throw away so great a name as Trismegistus upon him—But he may recover.
No,
