Hip. One of us then goes false.
Inf. Then sure ’tis you,
Mine goes by heaven’s dial, the sun, and it goes true.
Hip. I think, indeed, mine runs somewhat too fast.
Inf. Set it to mine at one then.
Hip. One? ’tis past:
’Tis past one by the sun.
Inf. Faith, then, belike,
Neither your clock nor mine does truly strike;
And since it is uncertain which goes true,
Better be false at one, than false at two.
Hip. You’re very pleasant, madam.
Inf. Yet not merry.
Hip. Why, Infelice, what should make you sad?
Inf. Nothing, my lord, but my false watch: pray, tell me,—
You see, my clock or yours is out of frame,
Must we upon the workmen lay the blame,
Or on ourselves that keep them?