BUTLER. Whatsoever his passion might be, it is the duty of a true, and honest dependent to obey his Lord’s mandates. I will not suffer a servant in this house, nor will I, myself, give the young man any thing except bread and water—But I’ll tell you what I’ll do—I’ll read my verses to him. AMELIA. Give me the key of the cellar—I’ll go myself. BUTLER. [_gives the key_]. And there’s my verses—[_taking them from his pocket_] Carry them with you, they may comfort him as much as the wine. [_She throws them down._ [_Exit_ Amelia. BUTLER. [_in amazement_]. Not take them! Refuse to take them—[_he lifts them from the floor with the utmost respect_]— “I must have made an elegy, And not this fine narration.” [_Exit._ ACT IV. SCENE I. _A Prison in one of the Towers of the Castle._ FREDERICK [_alone_]. FREDERICK. How a few moments destroy the happiness of man! When I, this morning, set out from my inn, and saw the sun rise, I sung with joy.—Flattered with the hope of seeing my mother, I formed a scheme how I would with joy surprize her. But, farewell all pleasant prospects—I return to my native country, and the first object I behold, is my dying parent; my first lodging, a prison; and my next walk will perhaps be—oh, merciful providence! have I deserved all this? _Enter_ AMELIA _with a small basket covered with a napkin.—She speaks to someone without._ AMELIA. Wait there, Francis, I shall soon be back. FREDERICK. [_hearing the door open, and turning around_]. Who’s there? AMELIA. You must be hungry and thirsty, I fear. FREDERICK. Oh, no! neither. AMELIA. Here is a bottle of wine, and something to eat. [_Places the basket on the table._] I have often heard my father say, that wine is quite a cordial to the heart. FREDERICK. A thousand thanks, dear stranger. Ah! could I prevail on you to have it sent to my mother, who is on her death-bed, under the roof of an honest peasant, called Hubert! Take it hence, my kind benefactress, and save my mother. AMELIA. But first assure me that you did not intend to murder my father. FREDERICK. Your father! heaven forbid.—I meant but to preserve her life, who gave me mine.—Murder your father! No, no—I hope not. AMELIA. And I thought not—Or, if you had murdered any one, you had better have killed the Count; nobody would have missed him. FREDERICK. Who, may I enquire, were those gentlemen, whom I hoped to frighten into charity? AMELIA. Ay, if you only intended to frighten them, the Count was the very person for your purpose. But you caught hold of the other gentleman.—And could you hope to intimidate Baron Wildenhaim? FREDERICK. Baron Wildenhaim!—Almighty powers! AMELIA. What’s the matter? FREDERICK. The man to whose breast I held my sword——[_trembling_]. AMELIA. Was Baron Wildenhaim—the owner of this estate—my father! FREDERICK. [_with the greatest emotion_]. _My_ father! AMELIA. Good heaven, how he looks! I am afraid he’s mad. Here! Francis, Francis. [_Exit, calling._