[_Stretching out his Hand._

_Bur._ [_Taking his Hand._] Don't say a word more about it.

_Job._ I--

_Bur._ Pray, now, master, don't say any more!--Come, be a man! get
on your things; and face the bailiffs that are rummaging the goods.

_Job._ I can't, John; I can't. My heart's heavier than all the iron
and brass in my shop.

_Bur._ Nay, consider what confusion!--pluck up a courage; do, now!

_Job._ Well, I'll try.

_Bur._ Aye, that's right: here's your clothes. [_Taking them from
the Back of a Chair._] They'll play the devil with all the pots and
pans, if you aren't by.--Why, I warrant you'll do! Bless you, what
should ail you?

_Job._ Ail me? do you go and get a daughter, John Bur; then let her
run away from you, and you'll know what ails me.

_Bur._ Come, here's your coat and waistcoat. [_Going to help him on
with his Clothes_] This is the waistcoat young mistress work'd with
her own hands, for your birth-day, five years ago. Come, get into
it, as quick as you can.

_Job._ [_Throwing it on the Floor violently._] I'd as lieve get into
my coffin. She'll have me there soon. Psha! rot it! I'm going to
snivel. Bur, go, and get me another.

_Bur._ Are you sure you won't put it on?

_Job._ No, I won't. [_BUR pauses._] No, I tell you.-- [_Exit BUR._

How proud I was of that waistcoat five years ago!--I little thought
what would happen now, when I sat in it, at the top of my table,
with all my neighbours to celebrate the day;--there was Collop on
one side of me, and his wife on the other; and my daughter Mary sat
at the farther end;--smiling so sweetly;--like an artful, good for
nothing----I shou'dn't like to throw away a waistcoat neither.--I
may as well put it on.--Yes--it would be poor spite not to put it
on. [_Putting his Arms into it._]--She's breaking my heart; but,
I'll wear it, I'll wear it. [_Buttoning it as he speaks, and crying
involuntarily._] It's my child's--She's undutiful,--ungrateful,
--barbarous,--but she's my child,--and she'll never work me another.

_Enter BUR._

_Bur._ Here's another waistcoat, but it has laid by so long, I think
it's damp.

_Job._ I was thinking so myself, Bur; and so----

_Bur._ Eh--what, you've got on the old one? Well, now, I declare,
I'm glad of that. Here's your coat. [_Putting it on him._]--'Sbobs!
this waistcoat feels a little damp, about the top of the bosom.

_Job._ [_Confused._] Never mind, Bur, never mind.--A little water
has dropt on