IV
Was it MackayвАЩs regiment, quoth my uncle Toby, where the poor grenadier was so unmercifully whippвАЩd at Bruges about the ducats?вБ†вАФO Christ! he was innocent! cried Trim, with a deep sigh.вБ†вАФAnd he was whippвАЩd, may it please your honour, almost to deathвАЩs door.вБ†вАФThey had better have shot him outright, as he beggвАЩd, and he had gone directly to heaven, for he was as innocent as your honour.вБ†вЄїI thank thee, Trim, quoth my uncle Toby.вБ†вЄЇвБ†I never think of his, continued Trim, and my poor brother TomвАЩs misfortunes, for we were all three schoolfellows, but I cry like a coward.вБ†вЄЇвБ†Tears are no proof of cowardice, Trim.вБ†вАФI drop them ofttimes myself, cried my uncle Toby.вБ†вЄЇвБ†I know your honour does, replied Trim, and so am not ashamed of it myself.вБ†вАФBut to think, may it please your honour, continued Trim, a tear stealing into the corner of his eye as he spokeвБ†вАФto think of two virtuous lads with hearts as warm in their bodies, and as honest as God could make themвБ†вАФthe children of honest people, going forth with gallant spirits to seek their fortunes in the worldвБ†вАФand fall into such evils!вБ†вАФpoor Tom! to be tortured upon a rack for nothingвБ†вАФbut marrying a JewвАЩs widow who sold sausagesвБ†вАФhonest Dick JohnsonвАЩs soul to be scourged out of his body, for the ducats another man put into his knapsack!вБ†вАФO!вБ†вАФthese are misfortunes, cried Trim,вБ†вАФpulling out his handkerchiefвБ†вАФthese are misfortunes, may it please your honour, worth lying down and crying over.
вАФMy father could not help blushing.
вАЩTwould be a pity, Trim, quoth my uncle Toby, thou shouldst ever feel sorrow of thy ownвБ†вАФthou feelest it so tenderly for others.вБ†вАФAlack-o-day, replied the corporal, brightening up his faceвБ†вЄїyour honour knows I have neither wife or childвБ†вЄЇвБ†I can have no sorrows in this world.вБ†вЄЇвБ†My father could not help smiling.вБ†вАФAs few as any man, Trim, replied my uncle Toby; nor can I see how a fellow of thy light heart can suffer, but from the distress of poverty in thy old ageвБ†вАФwhen thou art passed all services, TrimвБ†вАФand hast outlived thy friends.вБ†вЄЇвБ†AnвАЩ please your honour, never fear, replied Trim, cheerily.вБ†вЄЇвБ†But I would have thee never fear, Trim, replied my uncle Toby, and therefore, continued my uncle Toby, throwing down his crutch, and getting up upon his legs as he uttered the word thereforeвБ†вАФin recompence, Trim, of thy long fidelity to me, and that goodness of thy heart I have had such proofs ofвБ†вАФwhilst thy master is worth a shillingвБ†вЄЇвБ†thou shalt never ask elsewhere, Trim, for a penny. Trim attempted to thank my uncle TobyвБ†вАФbut had not powerвБ†вЄЇвБ†tears trickled down his cheeks faster than he could wipe them offвБ†вАФHe laid his hands upon his breastвБ†вЄЇвБ†made a bow to the ground, and shut the door.
вЄЇвБ†I have left Trim my bowling-green, cried my uncle Toby.вБ†вЄЇвБ†My father smiled.вБ†вЄїI have left him moreover a pension, continued my uncle Toby.вБ†вЄЇвБ†My father looked grave.