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THE ROBBERS.
31

ble.) Aut Cæsar, aut nihil.—You shall be jealous of me.

Moor.

(Looking at him steadfastly.) Maurice!

Spiegelberg.

(Warmly.) Yes, jealous of me—madly jealous you, and all of you.—I will invent such plans as shall confound every one of you.—How the light breaks in!—What great ideas dawn upon my mind—What giant-projects formed in this creative brain?—Curs'd lethargy of the soul! (Striking his head.) that chain'd my better judgement, cramp'd all my strength of mind—ruin'd all my prospects—I am now awake—I feel what I am, what I must yet be.—Go leave me—you shall all be indebted to my bounty for your support!

Moor.

You are a fool! The wine has got into your head! 'Tis that makes you bluster so.

Spiegelberg.

(Still more animated.) Spiegelberg, they will say, Art thou a magician, Spiegelberg?—What a pity, Spiegelberg, says the King, thou wert not a general, thou would'st have made the Turks

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