Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 1).pdf/490

 [unmoved].

Some hours ago 'twas true However. I have only quoted you;— In these same words you challenged to the field The "caucus" with love's name upon your shield. Then rang repudiation fast and thick From all directions, as from you at present; Incredible, I know; who finds it pleasant To hear the name of death when he is sick? Look at the priest! A painter and composer Of taste and spirit when he wooed his bride;— What wonder if the man became a proser When she was snugly settled by his side? To be his lady-love she was most fit; To be his wife, tho'—not a bit of it. And then the clerk, who once wrote clever numbers? No sooner was the gallant plighted, fixed, Than all his rhymes ran counter and got mixed; And now his Muse continuously slumbers, Lullabied by the law's eternal hum. Thus you see—

[Looks at

Are you cold?

[softly].

No.

[with forced humour].

Since the sum Works out a minus then in every case And never shows a plus,—why should you be