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THE ROBBERS.
43

Spiegelberg.) Maurice, thou art a great man;—or rather—the blind sow has swel't out the mast.

Roller.

(After a long silence, with his eyes fixed on Switzer.) What, And you too, friend—give me your hand.—Roller and Switzer for ever;—ay, to the pit of hell!

Spiegelberg.

(Cuts a caper.) Up to the stars, my boys! A free course to your Cæsars and your Catilines.—Courage! Off with your glasses.—Here's a health to the god Mercury!

All (drinking.) Here he goes!

Spiegelberg.

Now, for business! A twelvemonth hence we shall be able to buy earldoms.

Switzer.

(Muttering.) Yes, if we are not broke on the wheel. (They are going off.)

Roller.

Softly, my boys, softly,—where are you going?

F 2
—The
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