'Ay, Sir, I suppose you are one of those pensioned justices, who minister our vague and sanguinary laws, and do dark deeds for our usurping oligarchy, that has assumed a power of making our most innocent actions misdemeanours, of determining points of law without appeal, of imprisoning our persons without trial, and of breaking open our houses with the standing army. But nothing will go right till we have a reform in Parliament—neither peace nor war, commerce nor agriculture——'
'Clocks nor watches, I suppose,' said the magistrate.
'Ay, clocks nor watches,' cried Betterton, in a rage. 'For how can our mechanics make any thing good, while a packed parliament deprives them of money and a mart?'
'So then,' said the magistrate, 'if St. Dunstan's clock is out of order, 'tis owing to the want of a reform in Parliament.'
'I have not the most distant doubt of it,' cried Betterton.
''Tis fair then,' said the magistrate, 'that the reformists should take such a latitude as they do; for, probably, by their encouragement of time-pieces, they will at last discover the longitude.'
'No sneering, Sir,' cried Betterton. 'Now do your duty, as you call it, and abide the consequence.'
This gallant grey Lothario was then led off; and our party returned home.
Adieu.