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THE ROBBERS.
45

Roller.

It will be all children's play if he's not our leader.—Without Moor, we are a body without a soul.

Spiegelberg.

(Turning aside peevishly.) Blockhead!

Enter Moor, with wild gestures, stalks backwards and forwards, speaking to himself.

Moor.

Men!—Men! false! treacherous crocodiles! Your eyes are water! your hearts are iron! kisses on your lips! and poniards in your bosom! The lion and the panther feed their whelps—the raven strips the carrion to bring to her young; and he—he!—Whatever malice can devise I have learnt to bear—I could smile when my enemy drinks of my heart's blood.—But when a father's love becomes a fury's hate—O then, let fire rage here where once was humanity!—the tender-hearted lamb become a tyger—and every fibre of this tortured frame be rack'd—to ruin and despair!

Roller.

Harkee, Moor—what's your opinion—Isn't the

life

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