_Job._ Suppose your wife's shop was in flames, and all her bacon and farthing candles frying? _Simon._ And what then? _Job._ Why then, while the house was burning, you'd run to the church for the engine. Shou'dn't you think it plaguy hard if the sexton said, "Call for it to-morrow, between twelve and two?" _Simon._ That be neither here nor there. _Job._ Isn't it! Then, do you see this stick? [_Menacing._ _Simon._ Pshaw! you be a foolish old fellow. _Job._ Why, that's true. Every now and then a jack-in-office, like you, provokes a man to forget his years. The cudgel is a stout one, and som'at like your master's justice;--'tis a good weapon in weak hands; and that's the way many a rogue escapes a dressing.--What! you are laughing at it? _Simon._ Ees. _Job._ Ees! you Cornish baboon, in a laced livery!--Here's something to make you grin more--here's half a crown. [_Holding it up between his Finger and Thumb._ _Simon._ Hee! hee! _Job._ Hee, hee!--Damn your Land'send chops! 'tis to get me to your master:--but, before you have it, though he keeps a gentleman-justice-shop, I shall make free to ring it on his counter. [_Throws it on the Floor._] There! pick it up. [_SIMON picks up the money._] I am afraid you are not the first underling that has stoop'd to pocket a bribe, before he'd do his duty.--Now, tell the gentleman-justice, I want to see him. _Simon._ I'll try what I can do for you. [_Exit._ _Job._ What makes you tremble so, Mary? _Mary._ I can't help it:--I wish I could persuade you to go back again. _Job._ I'll stay till the roof falls, but I'll see some of 'em. _Mary._ Indeed, you don't know how you terrify me. But, if you go to Sir Simon, you'll leave me here in the hall;--you won't make me go with you, father? _Job._ Not take you with me.--I'll go with my wrongs in my hand, and make him blush for his son. _Mary._ I hope you'll think better of it. _Job._ Why? _Mary._ Because, when you came to talk, I should sink with shame, if he said any thing to you that might----that---- _Job._ Might what? _Mary._ [_Sighing, and hanging down her Head._] Make you blush for your daughter. _Job._ I won't have you waiting, like a petitioner, in this hall, when you come to be righted. No, no! _Mary._ You wouldn't have refused me any thing once;--but I know I have lost your esteem, now. _Job._ Lost!--forgive is forgive, all the world over. You know, Mary, I have forgiven you: and, making it up by halves, is making myself a brass teakettle--warm one minute, cold the next; smooth without, and hollow within. _Mary._ Then, pray, don't deny me!--I'm sure you wouldn't, if you knew half I am suffering. _Job._ Do as you like, Mary; only never tell me again you have lost my esteem. It looks like suspicion o' both sides.--Never say that, and I can deny you nothing in reason,--or, perhaps, a little beyond it.-- _Enter SIMON._