Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 3).djvu/45



Well, well, the indictment I endorse With all my heart; but can't divine What in the world it has to do With Him, the God you count a corse, Whom yet I still acknowledge mine.

My genial friend, your gift is Art;— Show me the God you have averr'd. Him you have painted, I have heard, And touch'd the honest people's heart. Old is he haply; am I right?

Well, yes

Of course; and, doubtless, white? Hairs straggling on a reverend head, A beard of ice or silver-thread; Kindly, yet stern enough to fright A pack of children in the night. I will not ask you, if your God With fireside slippers you have shod; But 'twere a pity, without doubt, To leave skull-cap and glasses out.

[Angrily.]

What do you mean?

I do not flout; Just so he looks in form and face,