Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 4).djvu/178



Witty, but a jest!

[''After a short silence, leaning on a chair and assuming a dignified mien.'']

Come, gentlemen, I think it best We part before the last remains Of friendship melt away like smoke. Who nothing owns will lightly risk it. When in the world one scarce commands The strip of earth one's shadow covers, One's born to serve as food for powder. But when a man stands safely landed, As I do, then his stake is greater. Go you to Hellas. I will put you Ashore, and arm you gratis too. The more you eke the flames of strife, The better will it serve my purpose. Strike home for freedom and for right! Fight! storm! make hell hot for the Turks;— And gloriously end your days Upon the Janissaries lances.— But I—excuse me     [Slaps his pocket. I have cash, And am myself, Sir Peter Gynt.

[''Puts up his sunshade, and goes into the grove, where the hammocks are partly visible.'']

The swinish cur!

No taste for glory!