1ST W.
'Tis very hard that we must bear the stones,
To make a keep and dungeon for ourselves!

TASK.
What's that you mutter? 'Tis a worthless race,
For nothing fit but just to milk their cows,
And saunter idly up and down the hills.

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

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

1ST W.
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.

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

1ST W.
Pray, master, what's to be the name of this
Same castle, when 'tis built?