Well may he fight for hearth and home, that clasps A heart so rare as thine against his own! What are the host of Emperors to him? Gertrude, farewell! I will to Uri straight. There lives my worthy comrade, Walter Fürst; His thoughts and mine upon these times are one. There, too, resides the noble Banneret Of Attinghaus. High though of blood he be, He loves the people, honors their old customs. With both of these I will take counsel how To rid us bravely of our country's foe. Farewell! and while I am away, bear thou A watchful eye in management at home. The pilgrim journeying to the house of God, And holy friar, collecting for his cloister, To these give liberally from purse and garner. Stauffacher's house would not be hid. Right out Upon the public way it stands, and offers To all that pass a hospitable roof. [_While they are retiring_, TELL _enters with_ BAUMGARTEN.] TELL. Now, then, you have no further need of me. Enter yon house. 'Tis Werner Stauffacher's, A man that is a father to distress. See, there he is, himself! Come, follow me. [_They retire up. Scene changes_.] SCENE III _A common near Altdorf. On an eminence in the background a Castle in progress of erection, and so far advanced that the outline of the whole may be distinguished. The back part is finished: men are working at the front. Scaffolding, on which the workmen are going up and down. A slater is seen upon the highest part of the roof. All is bustle and activity._ TASKMASTER, MASON, WORKMAN _and_ LABORERS TASK. (_with a stick, urging on the workmen_). Up, up! You've rested long enough. To work! The stones here! Now the mortar, and the lime! And let his lordship see the work advanced, When next he comes. These fellows crawl like snails! [_To two laborers, with loads_.] What! call ye that a load? Go, double it. Is this the way ye earn your wages, laggards? 1ST. W. 'Tis very hard that we must bear the stones, To make a keep and dungeon for ourselves! TASK. 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. TASK. Mind your own business. I but do my duty. 1ST W. Pray, Master, what's to be the name of this Same castle, when 'tis built? TASK. The Keep of Uri; For by it we shall keep you in subjection. WORK. The Keep of Uri? TASK. Well, why laugh at that? 2D W. Keep Uri, will you, with this paltry place! 1ST W. How many molehills such as that must first Be piled up each on each, ere you make A mountain equal to the least in Uri? [TASKMASTER _retires up the stage_.]