TASKMASTER.
What's that you mutter? 'Tis a worthless race,
And fit for nothing but to milk their cows,
And saunter idly up and down the mountains.

OLD MAN (sinks down exhausted).
I can no more.

TASKMASTER (shaking him).
Up, up, old man, to work!

FIRST WORKMAN.
Have you no bowels of compassion, thus
To press so hard upon a poor old man,
That scarce can drag his feeble limbs along?

MASTER MASON and WORKMEN.
Shame, shame upon you--shame! It cries to heaven!

TASKMASTER.
Mind your own business. I but do my duty.

FIRST WORKMAN.
Pray, master, what's to be the name of this
Same castle when 'tis built?

TASKMASTER.
The keep of Uri;
For by it we shall keep you in subjection.