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THE ROBBERS.

Grimm.

Our wine-cantines are empty long ago.—How glorious, how majestic, yonder setting sun!

Moor.

(Lost in contemplation.) 'Tis thus the hero falls;—'tis thus he dies,—in godlike majesty!

Grimm.

The sight affects you, Sir!

Moor.

When I was yet a boy,—a mere child,—it was my favourite thought,—my wish to live like him! (Pointing to the sun.) Like him to die. (Suppressing his anguish.) 'Twas an idle thought, a boy's conceit!——

Grimm.

It was so.

Moor.

(Pulling his hat over his eyes.) There was a time.—Leave me, my friends—alone——

Grimm.

Moor! Moor! 'Sdeath! How his countenance changes!——

Razman.

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