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De Mon. Then let him enter.[ Jerome.

De Mon. You are the stranger who would speak with me?

Grim. I am so far unfortunate, my lord, That, though my fortune on your favour hangs, I am to you a stranger.

De Mon. How may this be? What can I do for you?

Grim. Since thus your lordship does so frankly ask, The tiresome preface of apology I will forbear, and tell my tale at once.— In plodding drudgery I've spent my youth, A careful penman in another's office; And now, my master and employer dead, They seek to set a stripling o'er my head, And leave me on to drudge, e'en to old age, Because I have no friend to take my part. It is an office in your native town, For I am come from thence, and I am told You can procure it for me. Thus, my lord, From the repute of goodness which you bear, I have presum'd to beg.

De Mon. They have befool'd thee with a false report.

Grim. Alas! I see it is in vain to plead. Your mind is pre-possess'd against a wretch, Who has, unfortunately for his weal, Offended the revengeful Rezenvelt.