[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.