And still wear human shape: the shape of power.
[The two robbing peasants of the last scene come forward. Their faces have withered from much pain.
Now, brawlers, lift the bags of gold.
FIRST PEASANT.
Yes, yes!
Unwillingly, unwillingly; for she,
Whose gold we bear upon our shoulders thus,
Has endless pity even for lost souls
In her good heart. At moments, now and then,
When plunged in horror, brooding each alone,