Dennis. Who is he?
Job. A monstrous good young man; and as modest and affable, as if he had been bred up a 'prentice, instead of a gentleman.
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!