Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 4).djvu/155

 Let me sit at your bedside here. There; now we'll shorten the evening With many a lilt and lay.

Best bring from the closet the prayer-book: I feel so uneasy of soul.

In Soria-Moria Castle The King and the Prince give a feast. On the sledge-cushions lie and rest you; I'll drive you there over the heath

But, Peer dear, am I invited?

Ay, that we are, both of us.

[He throws a string round the back of the chair on which the cat is lying, takes up a stick, and seats himself at the foot of the bed.

Gee-up! Will you stir yourself, Black-boy? Mother, you're not a-cold? Ay, ay; by the pace one knows it, When Granë begins to go!

Why, Peer, what is it that's ringing?

The glittering sledge-bells, dear!