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.