Note 63 — Chapter VII
Reading edition
If an Amateur, who is capable of murdering time, should yet have the grace of a disposition to offer some apology for the act, I would suggest his quoting, for that purpose, the subjoined rhyming octave:—
“Cease, cease this fiddling,” cried Sir John, To Ned, his tune-perplexing son— “You lose your time, you idle lout.” “No, sir, my time I keep, throughout.” “Psha! keep time! no, kill time, you mean,” Mutter’d the father, full of spleen. “Kill him! well, sure, sir, I’m no zany, For killing him who has killed so many.”