Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 4).djvu/154

 To Soria-Moria Castle The road ran both high and low. A stick that we found in the closet, For a whip-shaft you made it serve.

Right proudly I perked on the box-seat

Ay, ay; you threw loose the reins, And kept turning round as we travelled, And asked me if I was cold. God bless you, ugly old mother,— You were ever a kindly soul! What's hurting you now?

My back aches, Because of the hard, bare boards.

Stretch yourself; I'll support you. There now, you're lying soft.

[Uneasily.]

No, Peer, I'd be moving!

Moving?

Ay, moving; 'tis ever my wish.

Oh, nonsense! Spread o'er you the bed-fur.