Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 1).pdf/445

 So it is Love's young bliss that will not brave The voyage over vaulted Ocean's wave, But asks a sacrifice when, like the sun, Its face should fill with glory, making one! Ah no, you vulgar prophets of the Lie, Give things the names we ought to know them by; Call widows' passion—wanting what they miss, And wedlock's habit—call it what it is!

Young man, this insolence has gone too far! In every word there's scoffing and defiance.

[Goes close up to Falk.

Now I'll gird up my aged loins to war For hallowed custom against modern science!

I go to battle as it were a feast!

Good! For your bullets I will be a beacon!—

[Nearer.

A wedded pair is holy, like a priest—

[at other side].

And a betrothed—

Half-holy, like the deacon.