Baron.
Keep to proſe.
Butler.
I will, my Lord; but I have repeated it ſo often in verſe, I ſcarce know how.—Count Caſſfel, influenced by the deſigns of Cupid in his very worſt humour,
“Count Caſſel wooed this maid ſo rare,
And in her eye found grace;
And if his purpoſe was not fair,”
Baron.
No verſe.
Butler.
“It probably was baſe,”
I beg your pardon, my Lord; but the verſe will intrude in ſpite of my efforts to forget it. ’Tis as difficult for me at times to forget, as ’tis for other men at times to remember. But in plain truth, my Lord, the Count was treacherous, cruel, forſworn.
Baron.
I am aſtoniſhed!
Butler.
And would be more ſo if you would liſten to the whole poem. [Moſt earneſtly.] Pray, my Lord, liſten to it.
Baron.
You know the family? All the parties?
Butler.
I will bring the father of the damſel to prove the veracity of my muſe. His name is Baden—poor old man!
