Simon. And what then?
Job. Why then, while the house was burning, you'd run to the church for the engine. Shou'dn't you think it plaguy hard if the sexton said, "Call for it to-morrow, between twelve and two?"
Simon. That be neither here nor there.
Job. Isn't it! Then, do you see this stick?
[Menacing.
Simon. Pshaw! you be a foolish old fellow.
Job. Why, that's true. Every now and then a jack-in-office, like you, provokes a man to forget his years. The cudgel is a stout one, and som'at like your master's justice;—'tis a good weapon in weak hands; and that's the way many a rogue escapes a dressing.—What! you are laughing at it?
Simon. Ees.
Job. Ees! you Cornish baboon, in a laced livery!—Here's something to make you grin more—here's half a crown.
[Holding it up between his Finger and Thumb.