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----
----'Tis thy own, _Trim_, so ornament it after thy own fashion; and take any date, continued my uncle _Toby_, looking pleasantly upon him--take any date in the whole world thou chusest, and put it to--thou art heartily welcome----
The corporal bowed; for of every century, and of every year of that century, from the first creation of the world down to _Noah's_ flood; and from _Noah's_ flood to the birth of _Abraham_; through all the pilgrimages of the patriarchs, to the departure of the _Israelites_ out of _Egypt_----and throughout all the Dynasties, Olympiads, Urbeconditas, and other memorable epochas of the different nations of the world, down to the coming of Christ, and from thence to the very moment in which the corporal was telling his story----had my uncle _Toby_ subjected this vast empire of time and all its abysses at his feet; but as MODESTY scarce touches with a finger what LIBERALITY offers her with both hands open--the corporal contented himself with the very _worst year_ of the whole bunch; which, to prevent your honours of the Majority and Minority from tearing the very flesh off your bones in contestation, 'Whether that year is not always the last cast-year of the last cast-almanack' ----I tell you plainly it was; but from a different reason than you wot of----
----It was the year next him----which being, the year of our Lord seventeen hundred and twelve, when the Duke of _Ormond_ was playing the devil in _Flanders_----the corporal took it, and set out with it afresh on his expedition to _Bohemia_.

The corporal, perceiving that it would be in vain for the wit of man to extract a purer moral from his cap, put it on, and returned to his story.
THE STORY OF THE KING OF BOHEMIA AND HIS SEVEN CASTLES, CONTINUED
'There was a certain king of Bohemia, but in whose reign, I am not able to inform your honour-'
'I do not desire it, Trim,' cried my uncle Toby.
'It was a little before the time when giants were beginning to leave off breeding: but in what year that was-'
'I would not give a halfpenny to know,' said my uncle Toby.
'Only, your honour, it makes a story look better-'
''Tis thy own, Trim, so take any date thou choosest, and welcome,' said my uncle Toby pleasantly.
The corporal bowed; for of every century, from the first creation of the world down to Noah's flood; and through all the Dynasties, Olympiads, and other memorable epochs of the world, down to the coming of Christ, and from thence to the very moment in which the corporal was telling his story - my uncle Toby laid this vast empire of time and all its abysses at his feet.
But as Modesty scarce touches with a finger what Liberality offers her with open hands - the corporal contented himself with the very worst year of the whole bunch.
To prevent your honours from tearing the flesh off your bones in argument, I tell you plainly it was the year 1712, when the Duke of Ormond was playing the devil in Flanders. - The corporal took it, and set out with it afresh on his expedition to Bohemia.
