Mary. Pray don't be so——
Job. Hold your tongue, child. What are his hours?
Simon. Why, from twelve to two.
Job. Two hours out of four and twenty! I hope all that belong to law, are a little quicker than his worship; if not, when a case wants immediate remedy, it's just eleven to one against us. Don't you know me?
Simon. Na.
Job. I'm sure I have seen you in Penzance.
Simon. My wife has got a chandler's shop there.
Job. Haven't you heard we've a fire engine in the church?
Simon. What o' that?
Job. Suppose your wife's shop was in flames, and all her bacon and farthing candles frying?