THE CHRONICLE OF CLEMENDY
ing, blowing, thinning down, murmuring and crying Splendeur Diou, Diaoul, in ignem æternam et favillam cum Diabolo et angelis suis—for the good old monks were the only people then who really understood theological arrangements, so they naturally expressed their thoughts with better grace and at more length. Well I will out with it; it was a mere clock, a thing of cogs and wheels and bells to tick off hours and minutes and seconds, to strike eating time and drinking time and kissing time, by which conceptions, horoscopes, and all the products of mind and body might be dated, in sun and shade, in the which point clocks are better than Dials, for these latter are not very useful on cloudy days, and moreover on each and every Dial are the words We Must, and people do not like to be always drinking the joyous sunshine and sweet nectar of the air from a death's head, unless they are fantastic and tired of the blue sky, the green earth and the Ap-Adams upon the earth. Now this clock aforesaid lived in a tower built on to the monastic church solely for its use and benefit to the intent that it might be plainly seen and clearly heard, and tell the Burgavennians when to breakfast, dine, and sup, when to yawn and awake, when to yawn and go to sleep, when to squeeze the ladies hard and to kiss their nice red lips till they were out of breath (these kisses leave blisters) and when to listen to the juice going guggle, guggle, guggle into the cups. Besides this it marked off Mass and Matins, separated Sext and called to Compline, and as I have said dwelt in a high campanile,
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