Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 4).djvu/127



The Boyg isn't mad.

Strike!

The Boyg strikes not.

Fight! You shall!

The great Boyg conquers, but does not fight.

Were there only a nixie here that could prick me! Were there only as much as a year-old troll! Only something to fight with. But here there is nothing.— Now he's snoring! Boyg!

What's your will?

Use force!

The great Boyg conquers in all things without it.

[Biting his own arms and hands.]  Claws and ravening teeth in my flesh! I must feel the drip of my own warm blood. [A sound is heard like the wing-strokes of great birds.