Caſſel is under to any other woman than my daughter?
Butler.
I am to tell your honour in proſe?
Baron.
Certainly. [Butler appears uneaſy and loath to ſpeak.] Amelia, he does not like to divulge what he knows in preſence of a third perſon—leave the room. [Exit Amelia.
Butler.
No, no—that did not cauſe my reluctance to ſpeak.
Baron.
What then?
Butler.
Your not allowing me to ſpeak in verſe—for here is the poetic poem. [Holding up a paper.]
Baron.
How dare you preſume to contend with my will? Tell in plain language all you know on the ſubject I have named.
Butler.
Well then, my Lord, if you muſt have the account in quiet proſe, thus it was—Phœbus, one morning, roſe in the Eaſt, and having handed in the long-expected day, he called up his brother Hymen——
Baron.
Have done with your rhapſody.
Butler.
Ay; I knew you’d like it beſt in verfe—
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.
