Siebel.
You broomstick, you!
Must we then bear your insolence too?
Brander.
Wait! wait! it shall rain blows anon!
Altmayer. [draws a stopper from the table, and fire rushes out on him]
I burn! I burn!
Siebel.
There’s witchcraft in his face!
The fellow’s an outlaw! strike him down!