Death to the nobles; tyrants were they all!
Drink, food, and rest for us; poor, weary, hungry, thirsty, naked!
Your bodies shall lie like sheaves upon our fields; the ruins of your castles fly like chaff beneath the flail of the thresher!
Voice. The children of Ham will dance merrily round their bonfires!
The Man. I cannot see the face of the murdered noble, they throng so thickly round him.
The Baptized. It is in all probability a friend or relation of your excellency!
The Man. I despise him, and hate you!
Poetry will sweeten all this horror hereafter. Forward, Jew, forward!
They disappear among the trees.