HINZE.

Well, then content yourself. I swear to you, you shall mount
the throne.

[_Exit._]

GOTTLIEB.

It would have to come about mysteriously--still, of course,
so many unexpected things happen in the world.

[_Exit._]

BOeTTICH.

Do notice the infinite refinement with which the cat always
holds his cane.

FISCHER.

You've been a bore to us for the longest while; you are even
more tiresome than the play.

SCHLOSS.

You even add to the confusion in our heads.

MUeLLER.

You talk constantly and do not know what you want.

MANY VOICES.

Out! Out! He's a nuisance! (_A crowd;_ BOeTTICHER _finds
himself compelled to leave the theatre._)

FISCHER.

He with his talk about refinement!

SCHLOSS.

He always vexes me when he considers himself a connoisseur.

_An open field_

HINZE (_with knapsack and bag_).

I have become quite accustomed to
hunting. Every day I catch partridges, rabbits and the like, and the
dear little animals are getting more and more practice in being
caught. (_He spreads out his bag._) Now the season of the nightingales
is over, I do not hear a single one singing.

[_Enter the two lovers._]

HE.

Go, you bore me.

SHE.

I am disgusted with you.

HE.

A fine kind of love!

SHE.

Wretched hypocrite, how you have deceived me!

HE.

What has become of your infinite tenderness?

SHE.

And your faithfulness?

HE.

Your rapture?

SHE.

Your infatuation?

BOTH.

The devil has taken it! That comes of marrying.

HINZE.

The hunt has never yet been so disturbed--if you would be
pleased to notice that this open field is clearly too confined for
your sorrows, and climb up some mountain.

HE.

Insolent wretch! (_Boxes_ HINZE _on the ear._)

SHE.

Boor! (_Also boxes_ HINZE _on the ear._)

HINZE (_purrs_).

SHE.

It seems best to me that we be parted again.

HE.

I am at your bidding.

[_Exit the lovers._]

HINZE.

Nice people, these so-called human beings. Just look, two
partridges; I will carry them off quickly. Now, fortune, make haste,
for I myself am almost getting impatient. Now I have no longer any
desire to eat the partridges. It's probably thus, that, by mere habit,
we can implant in our nature every possible virtue.

[_Exit._