[Life crosses the stage, with a whip of many thongs driving a huddled throng of half crouching men and women. They kneel and kiss his robe. His mouth is wide and grinning, his eyes slant, his nostrils are thick. He is hideous.]
Life. You! Give me your ideals. Three ideals! Is that all you have?
Young man. Life has robbed me of my ideals.
Workman. He robbed me too.
Young man. But I had so few.
Workman. When you have toiled to possess more, he will take those from you also.
Life [to an old woman]. For twelve hours you shall toil at what you hate. For an hour you shall work at what you love, to keep the wound fresh, to make the torture keener.
Old Man. Ah, pity! Do not be so cruel! Let me forget the work I love!
Life. Dog! Take what I give you! It is not by begging that you may win anything from me!
A Voice. Give me a dream! A dream to strengthen my hands!