FRAILTY.
Why, do you take us to be Jack ath’ Clock-house?
SKIRMISH.
I say again to you what’s a clock.
SIMON.
Truly la, we go by the clock our conscience: all worldly
Clocks, we know, go false, and are set by drunken Sextons.
SKIRMISH. Then what’s a clock in your conscience?—oh, I must break off, here comes the corporal—hum, hum!—what’s a clock?
[Enter Corporal.]
CORPORAL.
A clock? why, past seventeen.
FRAILTY.
Past seventeen? nay, ha’s met with his match now, Corporal
Oath will fit him.
SKIRMISH.
Thou doost not bawk or baffle me, doost thou? I am a
Soldier—past seventeen!
CORPORAL. Aye, thou art not angry with the figures, art thou? I will prove it unto thee: 12. and 1. is thirteen, I hope, 2. fourteen, 3. fifteen, 4. sixteen, and 5. Seventeen; then past seventeen: I will take the Dials part in a just cause.
SKIRMISH.
I say ’tis but past five, then.