BUTLER. Ay; I knew you’d like it best in verse—— There lived a lady in this land, Whose charms the heart made tingle; At church she had not given her hand, And therefore still was single. BARON. Keep to prose. BUTLER. I will, my Lord; but I have repeated it so often in verse, I scarce know how.—Count Cassel, 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 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! “The sire consents to bless the pair, And names the nuptial day, When, lo! the bridegroom was not there, Because he was away.” BARON. But tell me—Had the father his daughter’s innocence to deplore? BUTLER. Ah! my Lord, ah! and you _must_ hear that part in rhyme. Loss of innocence never sounds well except in verse. “For ah! the very night before, No prudent guard upon her, The Count he gave her oaths a score, And took in change her honour. MORAL. Then you, who now lead single lives, From this sad tale beware; And do not act as you were wives, Before you really are.” _Enter_ COUNT CASSEL. BARON. [_to the_ Butler]. Leave the room instantly. COUNT. Yes, good Mr. family poet, leave the room, and take your doggerels with you. BUTLER. Don’t affront my poem, your honour; for I am indebted to you for the plot. “The Count he gave her oaths a score And took in change her honour.” [_Exit_ Butler. BARON. Count, you see me agitated. COUNT. What can be the cause? BARON. I’ll not keep you in doubt a moment. You are accused, young man, of being engaged to another woman while you offer marriage to my child. COUNT. To only _one_ other woman? BARON. What do you mean? COUNT. My meaning is, that when a man is young and rich, has travelled, and is no personal object of disapprobation, to have made vows but to one woman, is an absolute slight upon the rest of the sex. BARON. Without evasion, Sir, do you know the name of Baden? Was there ever a promise of marriage made by you to his daughter? Answer me plainly: or must I take a journey to inquire of the father? COUNT. No—he can tell you no more than, I dare say, you already know; and which I shall not contradict. BARON. Amazing insensibility! And can you hold your head erect while you acknowledge perfidy?