Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 1).pdf/262



Alone he departed, a penniless swain; With esquires and henchmen now comes he again. What would he? Comes he, forsooth, to see My bitter and gnawing misery? Would he try how long, in my lot accurst, I can writhe and moan, ere my heart-strings burst— Thinks he that—? Ah, let him only try! Full little joy shall he reap thereby.

List, little maids, what I say to you: Find me my silken mantle blue. Go with me into my bower anon: My richest of velvets and furs do on. Two of you shall deck me in scarlet and vair, The third shall wind pearl-strings into my hair. All my jewels and gauds bear away with ye!

Since Margit the Hill-King's bride must be, Well! don we the queenly livery!

And now once more—welcome under Solhoug's roof, my wife's kinsman.