_Shuff._ Pray, do you employ the phrase, "verbal promise to pay," according to the reading of old dictionaries, or as it's the fashion to use it at present. _Sir Simon._ Oh, damn it, chuse your own reading, and I'm content. [_Exeunt severally._ SCENE II. _A Dressing Room._ _FRANK ROCHDALE writing; WILLIAMS attending._ _Frank._ [_Throwing down the Pen._] It don't signify--I cannot write. I blot, and tear; and tear, and blot; and----. Come here, Williams. Do let me hear you, once more. Why the devil don't you come here? _Williams._ I am here, sir. _Frank._ Well, well; my good fellow, tell me. You found means to deliver her the letter yesterday? _Williams._ Yes, sir. _Frank._ And, she read it----and----did you say, she--she was very much affected, when she read it? _Williams._ I told you last night, sir;--she look'd quite death struck, as I may say. _Frank._ [_Much affected._] Did----did she weep, Williams? _Williams._ No, sir; but I did afterwards--I don't know what ail'd me; but, when I got out of the house, into the street, I'll be hang'd if I did'nt cry like a child. _Frank._ You are an honest fellow, Williams. [_A Knock at the Door of the Room._] See who is at the door. [_WILLIAMS opens the Door._ _Enter JOHN._ _Williams._ Well, what's the matter? _John._ There's a man in the porter's lodge, says he won't go away without speaking to Mr. Francis. _Frank._ See who it is, Williams. Send him to me, if necessary; but don't let me be teased, without occasion. _Williams._ I'll take care, sir. [_Exeunt WILLIAMS and JOHN._ _Frank._ Must I marry this woman, whom my father has chosen for me; whom I expect here to-morrow? And must I, then, be told 'tis criminal to love my poor, deserted Mary, because our hearts are illicitly attach'd? Illicit for the heart? fine phraseology! Nature disowns the restriction; I cannot smother her dictates with the polity of governments, and fall in, or out of love, as the law directs. _Enter DENNIS BRULGRUDDERY._ Well, friend, who do you come from? _Dennis._ I come from the Red Cow, sir. _Frank._ The Red Cow? _Dennis._ Yes, sir!--upon Muckslush Heath--hard by your honour's father's house, here. I'd be proud of your custom, sir, and all the good looking family's. _Frank._ [_Impatiently._] Well, well, your business? _Dennis._ That's what the porter ax'd me, "Tell me your business, honest man," says he--"I'll see you damn'd first, sir," says I:--"I'll tell it your betters;--and that's Mr. Francis Rochdale, Esquire." _Frank._ Zounds! then, why don't you tell it? I am Mr. Francis Rochdale.--Who the devil sent you here? _Dennis._ Troth, sir, it was good nature whisper'd me to come to your honour: but I believe I've disremembered her directions, for damn the bit do you seem acquainted with her. _Frank._ Well, my good friend, I don't mean to be violent; only be so good as to explain your business.