Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 3).djvu/238



Never will I hide my face In the crowd that you command; Let them seek me: here I stand.

Are you sane?

The path you pace Is too narrow for my tread.

And 'twill still grow less and less As the people push ahead. Zounds! They spurn at rod and check! Parsons, Dean, and Corporation Jostled to the brimming beck—! Quickly, friend, make application Of the scourge of your persuasion! Ha, too late, they smash the line; The procession is a wreck!

The multitude stream in, and break in wild disorder through the procession to the church.

Priest!

[''Pointing up to the Church steps, where stands.'']

See yonder!

Give the sign!