I'm trying to find a poem I read donkey's years ago. It's about a wealthy man on his deathbed, with his lawyer there helping him make out his will.
He's evidently something of a miser because the lawyer has to drag every bequest out of him, and he makes them only after a round of moaning, weeping, and hand-wringing.
It's evident that he's operating on two different levels simultaneously: one where he's aware that he's on the verge of death and therefore had better dispose of his goods in the way that suits him, and another completely different level where he's still in denial and thinks he can keep his property if only he isn't forced to give it away.
Overall, it's a very affecting and poignant image of psychopathology.
The last lines go something like
"If I must, I give it [some name]", he said.