[Going to the window.]
There are none here. They tired and strayed from hence—
Unwilling labourers.
FIRST MERCHANT.
I will draw them in.
[He cries through the window.
Come hither, you lost souls of men, who died
In drunken sleep, and by each other’s hands
When they had bartered you—come hither all
Who mourn among the scenery of your sins,