_Dennis._ And what's his name? _Job._ Oh, every body knows him, in this neighbourhood; he lives hard by--Mr. Francis Rochdale, the young 'squire, at the Manor-house. _Dennis._ Mr. Francis Rochdale! _Job._ Yes!--he's as condescending! and took quite a friendship for me, and mine. He told me, t'other day, he'd recommend me in trade to all the great families twenty miles round;--and said he'd do, I don't know what all, for my Mary. _Dennis._ He did!--Well, 'faith, you may'nt know what; but, by my soul, he has kept his word! _Job._ Kept his word!--What do you mean? _Dennis._ Harkye--If Scandal is blowing about your little fireside accident, 'twas Mr. Francis Rochdale recommended him to your shop, to buy his brass trumpet. _Job._ Eh! What? no!--yes--I see it at once!--young Rochdale's a rascal!--Mary! [_Bawling._ _Dennis._ Hush--you'll wake her, you know. _Job._ I intend it. I'll--a glossy, oily, smooth rascal!--warming me in his favour, like an unwholesome February sun! shining upon my poor cottage, and drawing forth my child,--my tender blossom,--to suffer blight, and mildew!--Mary! I'll go directly to the Manor-house--his father's in the commission.--I may'nt find justice, but I shall find a justice of peace. _Dennis._ Fie, now! and can't you listen to reason? _Job._ Reason!----tell me a reason why a father shouldn't be almost mad, when his patron has ruin'd his child.--Damn his protection!--tell me a reason why a man of birth's seducing my daughter doesn't almost double the rascality? yes, double it: for my fine gentleman, at the very time he is laying his plans to make her infamous, would think himself disgraced in making her the honest reparation she might find from one of her equals. _Dennis._ Arrah, be asy, now, Mr. Thornberry. _Job._ And, this spark, forsooth, is now canvassing the county!--but, if I don't give him his own at the hustings!--How dare a man set himself up for a guardian of his neighbour's rights, who has robbed his neighbour of his dearest comforts? How dare a seducer come into freeholders' houses, and have the impudence to say, send me up to London as your representative? Mary! [_Calling._ _Dennis._ That's all very true.--But if the voters are under petticoat government, he has a mighty good chance of his election. _Enter MARY._ _Mary._ Did you call, my dear father? _Job._ Yes, I did call. [_Passionately._ _Dennis._ Don't you frighten that poor young crature! _Mary._ Oh, dear! what has happened?--You are angry; very angry. I hope it isn't with me!--if it is, I have no reason to complain. _Job._ [_Softened, and folding her in his Arms._] My poor, dear child! I forgive you twenty times more, now, than I did before. _Mary._ Do you, my dear father?