Twenty-five minutes left

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Triago: Good colleagues: there are but twenty minutes left. Wouldst you thy precious time reclaim; Or may we keep afoot our infinite game — With more, or any other, business? Search anew, What items canst be tabled without ado? Gloucester: Nothing sire. Kent: Nor from I.

A period of silence around the table.

Queen (aside): That irksome twerp. A world of richness awaits this piffling parley. Triago: How say you, brave Herculio? What agenda fodder doth the gods portend? Herculio: The gods? The gods? Methinks you jest. Th’almighty has no use for paltry conference. Triago: I think he does, sirrah! Queen: Oh, ho! How so? What matters lie upon thy parchèd record That be yet unbeknownst to sacred mind? Whose cogs and toothèd gears Whose immaculate escapements All history — gone and yet to come — defined? What need hath she, or he Who bid the lion lay with lamb For this dismal convention? Nuncle: Thou maketh me to meet — Therefore I am. Triago: How should I know, my Queen? How should I know? Queen: Quite so, good sir, quite so. I must away. Maketh thou the time-ball drop.

Exit Queen

Herculio: With all my heart, my Liege — One has to hop.

Exeunt

—Büchstein’s Die Schweizer Heulsuse

A remark, if uttered on an industry call, worthy of an assassination attempt. The usual context is “okay, well done everyone, we have got through the agenda quickly today; we have twenty-five minutes left. Has anyone got any items they would like to raise?”

“Only the wall against which you will be shot come the revolution, chump.”

See also

• Die Schweizer Heulsuse