A public square filled with people . . . Enough one or two such shells. . . . And should the revolt still continue, we'll shower the city. The revolt is over. The ground is strewn with bodies, the streets are soaked with blood.
Fine ladies flit about.
They lift their children and bid them kiss the mouth of the cannon, for the cannon have saved the rich from destruction. Prayers and hymns are offered up to the cannon, for they have saved the masters and punished the starvelings. And all is quiet, with the stillness of the graveyard where sleep the dead. King-Hunger , with hollow cheeks and sunken eyes, makes a desperate last appeal to his children. Oh, my daughter, my daughter, you hated so profoundly, so intensely, you most miserable on earth -arise.