ate, I make no
distinction of persons.--Seduction is a heinous offence: and,
whatever is in my power, I----

_Job._ The offender is in your power, Sir Simon.

_Sir Simon._ Well, well; don't be hasty, and I'll take cognizance of
him.--We must do things in form:--but you mustn't be passionate.
[_Goes to the Table, and takes up a Pen._] Come, give me his
christian and surname, and I'll see what's to be done for you.--Now,
what name must I write?

_Job._ Francis Rochdale.

_Sir Simon._ [_Drops the Pen, looks at JOB, and starts up._] Damn me!
if it isn't the brazier!

_Job._ Justice is justice, Sir Simon. I am a respectable tradesman,
your neighbour, and a freeholder.--Seduction is a heinous offence; a
magistrate knows no distinction of persons; and a rascal musn't
disgrace your estate four and twenty hours longer.

_Sir Simon._ [_Sheepishly._] I believe your name is Thornberry?

_Job._ It is, Sir Simon. I never blush'd at my name, till your son
made me blush for yours.

_Sir Simon._ Mr. Thornberry--I--I heard something of my
son's--a--little indiscretion, some mornings ago.

_Job._ Did you, Sir Simon? you never sent to me about it; so, I
suppose, the news reach'd you at one of the hours you don't set
apart for justice.

_Sir Simon._ This is a----a very awkward business, Mr. Thornberry.
Something like a hump back;--we can never set it quite straight, so
we must bolster it.

_Job._ How do you mean, Sir Simon?

_Sir Simon._ Why--'tis a--a disagreeable affair, and--we--must hush
it up.

_Job._ Hush it up! a justice compound with a father, to wink at his
child's injuries! if you and I hush it up so, Sir Simon, how shall
we hush it up here? [_Striking his Breast._] In one word, will your
son marry my daughter?

_Sir Simon._ What! my son marry the daughter of a brazier!

_Job._ He has ruined the daughter of a brazier.--If the best lord in
the land degrades himself by a crime, you can't call his atonement
for it a condescension.

_Sir Simon._ Honest friend--I don't know in what quantities you may
sell brass at your shop; but when you come abroad, and ask a baronet
to marry his son to your daughter, damn me, if you ar'n't a
wholesale dealer!

_Job._ And I can't tell, Sir Simon, how you may please to retail
justice; but when a customer comes to deal largely with you, damn me
if you don't shut up the shop windows!

_Sir Simon._ You are growing saucy. Leave the room, or I shall
commit you.

_Job._ Commit me