Our maidens there await us; there await us our slaughtered oxen, the old teams of our ploughs!
A Voice. I am pulling and dragging him on with all my strength—now he turns and defends himself—down! down among the dead!
Voice of the Dying Noble. My children, pity! pity!
Second Voice. Chain me to your land and make me work without pay again—will you!
Third Voice. My only son fell under the blows of your lash, old lord; either wake him from the dead, or die to join him!
Fourth Voice. The children of Ham drink thy health, old lord! they beg thee for forgiveness, lord!
Chorus of Peasants (passing on out of sight). A vampire sucked our blood, and lived upon our strength:
We have caught the vampire, he shall escape no more!
By Satan, thou shalt hang as high as a great lord should!
By Satan, thou shalt die high, high above us all!