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THE ROBBERS.

O. Moor.

(In a transport of joy.) My Charles alive!

Moor.

Yes! he's alive! sent here to save—to avenge his father.—Thus by thy favourite son thy kindness recompensed. (Pointing to the tower.) Thus by the prodigal revenged! (Presses him more warmly to his breast.)

The Robbers.

Hark! there are voices in the forest!

Moor.

Call in the band! (The Robbers go out.) 'Tis time, O heart! time to remove the cup of pleasure from the lips, before it turn to poison.

O. Moor.

Are these men thy friends? I dread to look at them.

Moor.

Ask any thing but that!—That has no answer.

Enter

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