[160]
that, cried my father—I should be sorry to appear with a blot in my escutcheon before them—never mind the bend-sinister, said my uncle Toby, putting on his tye-wig—No, indeed, said my father,—you may go with my aunt Dinah to a visitation with a bend-sinister, if you think fit—My poor uncle Toby blush'd. My father was vexed at himself—No—my dear brother Toby, said my father, changing his tone—but the damp of the coach-lining about my loins, may give me the Sciatica again, as it did December, January, and February last winter—so if you please you shall ride my wife's pad—and as you are to preach, Yorick, you had better make the best of your way before,—and leave me to take care of my brother Toby, and to follow at our own rates.
Now
