Of robbing cure this elf;
If so I'll write, without a trope,
His dying speech myself.

And had the Baron chanc'd to die,
Oh! grief to all the nation,
I must have made an elegy,
And not this fine narration.

MORAL.

Henceforth let those who all have spent,
And would by begging live,
Take warning here, and be content,
With what folks chuse to give.

AMELIA. Your muse, Mr. Butler, is in a very inventive humour this
morning.

ANHALT. And your tale too improbable, even for fiction.

BUTLER. Improbable! It's a real fact.

AMELIA. What, a robber in our grounds, at noon-day? Very likely
indeed!

BUTLER. I don't say it was likely--I only say it is true.

ANHALT. No, no, Mr. Verdun, we find no fault with your poetry; but
don't attempt to impose it upon us for truth.