radesman, and a freeholder,
in such a serious case as yours, had better have recourse to a court
of law.

_Job._ I am not rich, now, Sir Simon, whatever I may have been.

_Sir Simon._ A magistrate, honest, friend, can't give you
damages:--you must fee counsel.

_Job._ I can't afford an expensive lawsuit, Sir Simon:--and, begging
your pardon, I think the law never intended that an injured man, in
middling circumstances, should either go without redress, or starve
himself to obtain it.

_Sir Simon._ Whatever advice I can give you, you shall have it for
nothing; but I can't jump over justice's hedges and ditches. Courts
of law are broad high roads, made for national convenience; if your
way lie through them, 'tis but fair you should pay the turnpikes.
Who is the offender?

_Job._ He lives on your estate, Sir Simon.

_Sir Simon._ Oho! a tenant!--Then I may carry you through your
journey by a short cut. Let him marry your daughter, my honest
friend.

_Job._ He won't.

_Sir Simon._ Why not?

_Job._ He's going to marry another.

_Sir Simon._ Then he turns out. The rascal sha'n't disgrace my
estate four and twenty hours longer.--Injure a reputable tradesman,
my neighbour!----a freeholder!--and refuse to----did you say he was
poor?

_Job._ No, Sir Simon; and, by and by, if you don't stand in his way,
he may be very rich.

_Sir Simon._ Rich! eh!--Why, zounds! is he a gentleman?

_Job._ I have answer'd that question already, Sir Simon.

_Sir Simon._ Not that I remember.

_Job._ I thought I had been telling you his behaviour.

_Sir Simon._ Umph!

_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 magistr