Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 3).djvu/189

 By a child to Death's font borne, Oh, what riches have I still!

''A sharp knock at the outer door; turns with a cry, and at the same moment sees  The door is burst open, and a, raggedly dressed, enters hastily, with a child in her arms.''

[Looking at the child's clothes, calls to .]

Thou rich mother, share with me!

Thou art richer far!

I see, Thou art of the common breed, Cramm'd with words, and void of deed.

[Approaching her.]

Tell me what thou seekest.

Thee, Troth, I do not seek, at least! Rather to the wind and rain Will I hurry out again, Than be sermon'd by a priest; Rather to the wild sea fly, Drown and rot beneath the sky, Than I'll hear the black man tell How I'm on my way to hell; Can I help—the devil take me— Being what God chose to make me?