“Nothing in this world, Trim, is made to last for ever.”
——But when tokens, dear Tom, of thy love and remembrance wear out, said Trim, what shall we say?
There is no occasion, Trim, quoth my uncle Toby, to say anything else; and was a man to puzzle his brains till Doom’s day, I believe, Trim, it would be impossible.
The corporal, perceiving my uncle Toby was in the right, and that it would be in vain for the wit of man to think of extracting a purer moral from his cap, without further attempting it, he put it on; and passing his hand across his forehead to rub out a pensive wrinkle, which the text and the doctrine between them had engender’d, he return’d, with the same look and tone of voice, to his story of the king of Bohemia and his seven castles.
THE STORY OF THE KING OF BOHEMIA AND HIS SEVEN CASTLES, CONTINUED
There was a certain king of Bohemia, but in whose reign, except his own, I am not able to inform your honour——
I do not desire it of thee, Trim, by any means, cried my uncle Toby.
——It was a little before the time, an’ please your honour, when giants were beginning to leave off breeding:—but in what year of our Lord that was——
I would not give a halfpenny to know, said my uncle Toby.
——Only, an’ please your honour, it makes a story look the better in the face——