Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 3).djvu/236



Alas Only in Him? She is undone.

What say you?

Damn'd, to my regret.

[Quietly.]

Go, scoundrel!

You shall feel as well The clutches of the Lord of hell;— For both, eternal torments wait.

You, wretch, dare sentence to the Fire! Yourself late wallow'd in the mire

On me no spot is to be seen; The tub of Faith hath wash'd me clean; Each splash has vanish'd, scraped and scored On Holiness's washing-board; In Vigilance's mangle I Have wrung my Adam's-vesture dry; And shine like snowy surplice fair, Soap-lather'd with the suds of Prayer!

Hold!