Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 3).djvu/176

 From her by whom you are alive; For the first cause of all the brood Was, that he loved and she withstood.

Advise me, Mayor; can you tell Some means of giving them relief?

Tut, clap them in a Bridewell cell. They're overhead in debt to hell; To save them were to play the thief With Satan, who will lose his trade If earth restore not what he made.

You plann'd to build a house, to better This naked misery and dearth

That plan was, by its own begetter, Slain in the moment of its birth.

If after all though—it were well

[Smiling.]

This language has another sound Than that which earlier from you fell.

[Clapping him on the shoulder.]

What's buried, leave it in the ground Man must not dash his deed with doubt. Farewell, farewell, I can't remain, I must be off and scour the fell, To seek this nest of truants out. A merry Yule! We'll meet again! My greetings to your wife. Farewell! [Goes.