——BLESS my soul!—my poor mistress is ready to faint——and her pains are
gone—and the drops are done—and the bottle of julap is broke——and the
nurse has cut her arm—(and I, my thumb, cried Dr. _Slop_,) and the
child is where it was, continued _Susannah_,—and the midwife has fallen
backwards upon the edge of the fender, and bruised her hip as black as
your hat.—I’ll look at it, quoth Dr _Slop_.—There is no need of that,
replied _Susannah_,—you had better look at my mistress—but the midwife
would gladly first give you an account how things are, so desires you
would go up stairs and speak to her this moment.
Human nature is the same in all professions.
The midwife had just before been put over Dr. _Slop_’s head—He had not
digested it.—No, replied Dr. _Slop_, ’twould be full as proper if the
midwife came down to me.—I like subordination, quoth my uncle
_Toby_,—and but for it, after the reduction of _Lisle_, I know not what
might have become of the garrison of _Ghent_, in the mutiny for bread,
in the year Ten.—Nor, replied Dr. _Slop_, (parodying my uncle _Toby_’s
hobby-horsical reflection; though full as hobby-horsical himself)——do I
know, Captain _Shandy_, what might have become of the garrison above
stairs, in the mutiny and confusion I find all things are in at
present, but for the subordination of fingers and thumbs to ******——the
application of which, Sir, under this accident of mine, comes in so _à
propos_, that without it, the cut upon my thumb might have been felt by
the _Shandy_ family, as long as the _Shandy_ family had a name.