AMELIA. Poets are allowed to speak falsehood, and we forgive yours.

BUTLER. I won't be forgiven, for I speak truth--And here the robber
comes, in custody, to prove my words. [Goes off, repeating] "I'll
write his dying speech myself."

AMELIA. Look! as I live, so he does--They come nearer; he's a young
man, and has something interesting in his figure. An honest
countenance, with grief and sorrow in his face. No, he is no robber--I
pity him! Oh! look how the keepers drag him unmercifully into the
tower--Now they lock it--Oh! how that poor, unfortunate man must feel!

ANHALT [aside]. Hardly worse than I do.

Enter the BARON.

AMELIA [runs up to him]. A thousand congratulations, my dear papa.

BARON. For Heaven's sake spare me your congratulations. The old
Butler, in coming up stairs, has already overwhelmed me with them.

ANHALT. Then, it is true, my Lord? I could hardly believe the old man.

AMELIA. And the young prisoner, with all his honest looks, is a robber?

BARON. He is; but I verily believe for the first and last time. A
most extraordinary event, Mr. Anhalt This young man begged; then drew
his sword upon me; but he trembled so, when he seized me by the breast,
a child might have overpowered him. I almost wish he had made his