Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 1).pdf/442



With her own hands she's trimming her own dress

[patting hand].

And growing exquisitely sensible.

[laughing aloud].

O parody of sense, that rives and rends In maniac dance upon the lips of friends! Was it good sense he wanted? Or a she- Professor of the lore of Cookery? A joyous son of springtime he came here, For the wild rosebud on the bush he burned. You reared the rosebud for him; he returned— And for his rose found what? The hip!

[offended].

You jeer!

A useful household condiment, heaven knows! But yet the hip was not his bridal rose.

O, if it is a ball-room queen he wants, I'm very sorry; these are not their haunts.

O yes, I know the pretty coquetry They carry on with "Domesticity." It is a suckling of the mighty Lie That, like hop-tendrils, spreads itself on high.