Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 4).djvu/180

 Amid the press we'd all be drowned; And then where would the profit be?

Accurst! So near to fortune's summit, And now stopped short beside its grave!

[Shakes his fist towards the yacht.]  That long black chest holds coffered up The nabob's golden nigger-sweat! A royal notion! Quick! Away! It's all up with his empire now! Hurrah! What would you? Seize the power! The crew can easily be bought. On board then. I annex the yacht! You—what? I grab the whole concern! [Goes down to the jolly-boat.   Why then self-interest commands me To grab my share. [Goes after him.

What scoundrelism!