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THE ROBBERS.

Enter Razman.

Moor.

(Running up to him.) The letter! where is the letter?

Razman.

(Giving him the letter, which he opens with eagerness.) What now? Why, you seem petrified!

Moor.

My brother's hand!

Roller.

What the devil is Spiegelberg about there?

Grimm.

The fellow's out of his senses;—he's playing tricks like a monkey;—he has got St. Vitus's dance.

Schufterle.

His wits are a-wool-gathering:—He's making verses, I suppose.

Roller.

Spiegelberg! hey, Spiegelberg!—The beast does not hear me.——

Grimm.

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