Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 2).djvu/247

 ] Peace and greeting, my honoured lord! I hear it goes ill with you.

I am a corpse in the bud, good Duke; this night shall I break into bloom; to-morrow you may scent my perfume.

Already to-night, say you?

Master Sigard says: within an hour.

And Trond the Priest's letter?

Think you still upon that?

'Tis never out of my thoughts.

The King has made you Duke; before you, no man in Norway has borne that title.

'Tis not enough. If Håkon be not the rightful king, then must I have all!

Ha, 'tis cold in here; the blood runs icy through my limbs.