GOTTLIEB.
Dear Hinze, it is true you are doing much for me, but I still cannot understand what good it is going to do me.
HINZE.
Upon my word, I want to make you happy.
GOTTLIEB.
Happiness must come soon, very soon, otherwise it will be too late; it is already half past seven and the comedy ends at eight.
HINZE.
Say, what the devil does that mean?
GOTTLIEB.
Oh, I was lost in thought—See! I meant to say, how beautifully the sun has risen. The accursed prompter speaks so indistinctly; and then if you want to extemporize once in a while, it always goes wrong.