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THE ROBBERS.

expressed when they saw me coming.—Oh, I shall never forget it.—No, for all the treasures of Crœsus, I would not undergo that again.—Dying! Zounds, 'tis no more than cutting a caper:—'Tis what goes before that's the devil.

Spiegelberg.

And the powder-magazine was blown in the air?—that accounts for the stink of brimstone we smelt far and near, as if the devil's wardrobe had been on fire.

Switzer.

Damnation! If they made a holiday for the hanging of our poor comrade, why shouldn't we make a holiday for the burning of their town,—when he was to escape by it.—Schufterle, can you tell how many were killed?

Schufterle.

Eighty-three, they say;—the steeple crush'd sixty of them to death.

Moor.

(In a very serious tone.) Roller, you were dearly bought.

Schufterle.

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