t is engaged to another?

_Shuff._ He offers a great sacrifice.

_Frank._ And where is the reparation to the unfortunate he has
deserted?

_Shuff._ An annuity.--A great many unfortunates sport a stylish
carriage, up and down St. James's street, upon such a provision.

_Frank._ An annuity, flowing from the fortune, I suppose, of the
woman I marry! is that delicate?

_Shuff._ 'Tis convenient. We liquidate debts of play, and usury,
from the same resources.

_Frank._ And call a crowd of jews and gentlemen gamesters together,
to be settled with, during the debtor's honeymoon!

_Shuff._ No, damn it, it wouldn't be fair to jumble the jews into
the same room with our gaming acquaintance.

_Frank._ Why so?

_Shuff._ Because, twenty to one, the first half of the creditors
would begin dunning the other.

_Frank._ Nay, far once in your life be serious. Read this, which has
wrung my heart, and repose it, as a secret, in your own.
[_Giving the Letter._

_Shuff._ [_Glancing over it._] A pretty, little, crowquill kind of a
hand.--_"Happiness,--innocence,--trifling assistance--gentleman
befriended me--unhappy Mary."_--Yes, I see--[_Returning it._]--She
wants money, but has got a new friend.--The style's neat, but the
subject isn't original.

_Frank._ Will you serve me at this crisis?

_Shuff._ Certainly.

_Frank._ I wish you to see my poor Mary in the course of the day.
Will you talk to her?

_Shuff._ O yes--I'll talk to her. Where is she to be seen?

_Frank._ She writes, you see, that she has abruptly left her
father--and I learn, by the messenger, that she is now in a
miserable, retired house, on the neighbouring heath.--That mustn't
deter you from going.

_Shuff._ Me? Oh, dear no--I'm used to it. I don't care how retired
the house is.

_Frank._ Come down to my father to breakfast. I will tell you
afterwards all I wish you to execute.--Oh, Tom! this business has
unhinged me for society. Rigid morality, after all, is the best coat
of mail for the conscience.

_Shuff._ Our ancestors, who wore mail, admired it amazingly; but to
mix in the gay world, with their rigid morality, would be as
singular as stalking into a drawing-room in their armour:--for
dissipation is now the fashionable habit, with which, like a brown
coat, a man goes into company, to avoid being stared at. [_Exeunt._

SCENE III.

_An Apartment in JOB THORNBERRY'S House._

_Enter