Job. I reckon many of my neighbours honest men, though I can't call them gentlemen;—but I reckon no man a gentleman, that I can't call honest.
Sir Simon. Harkye, neighbour;—if he's a gentleman (and I have several giddy young tenants, with more money than thought), let him give you a good round sum, and there's an end.
Job. A good round sum!—Damn me, I shall choke! [Aside.] A ruffian, with a crape, puts a pistol to my breast, and robs me of forty shillings;—a scoundrel, with a smiling face, creeps to my fireside, and robs my daughter of her innocence. The judge can't allow restitution to spare the highwayman;—then, pray, Sir Simon,—I wish to speak humbly—pray don't insult the father, by calling money a reparation from the seducer.
Sir Simon. This fellow must be dealt with quietly I see—Justice, my honest friend, is——justice.—As a magistrate, 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?