Pereg. Then he misinform'd me.
Job. No, he didn't. I had one last night; but she's gone.
Pereg. Gone!
Job. Yes; gone to sea, for what I know, as you did. Run away from a good father, as you did.—This is a morning to remember;—my daughter has run out, and the bailiffs have run in;—I shan't soon forget the day of the month.
Pereg. This morning, did you say?
Job. Aye, before day-break;—a hard-hearted, base——
Pereg. And could she leave you, during the derangement of your affairs?
Job. She did'nt know what was going to happen, poor soul! I wish she had now. I don't think my Mary would have left her old father in the midst of his misfortunes.
Pereg. [Aside.] Mary! it must be she! What is the amount of the demands upon you?
Job. Six thousand. But I don't mind that: the goods can nearly cover it—let 'em take 'em—damn the gridirons and warming-pans!—I could begin again—but, now, my Mary's gone, I hav'n't the heart; but I shall hit upon something.