Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 3).djvu/34



Agnes, my beautiful butterfly, Playfully shalt thou be caught! I am weaving a net, and its meshes fine Are all of my music wrought!

[Dancing backwards and always eluding him.]

And am I a butterfly, dainty and slight, Let me sip of the heather-bell blue, And art thou a boy, let me be thy sport, But oh! not thy captive too!

Agnes, my beautiful butterfly, I have woven my meshes so thin, And never availeth thy fluttering flight, Soon art thou my captive within.

And am I a butterfly young and bright, Full joyously I can play, But if in thy net I a captive lie Oh, touch not my wings, I pray!

Nay, I will lift thee with tender hand, And lock thee up in my breast, And there thou shalt play thy whole life long At the game thy heart loves best.

[''They have unwittingly approached a sheer precipice, and are now close to the edge.''

[Calls down to them.]

Hold! hold! You stand by an abyss!