Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 4).djvu/262



Ay, true; but we know you were never dainty.

If only she doesn't give Death the slip

Come, kinsman! A dram, for our kinship's sake!

To the deuce with your kinship! You're maundering in drink

Oh, rubbish; blood's never so thin as all that; One cannot but feel one's akin to Peer Gynt.

[Goes off with him.

[To himself.]

One meets with acquaintances.

[Calls after the ]

Mother that's dead Will be after you, Aslak, if you wet your whistle.

[Rises.]

The husbandman's saying seems scarce to hold here: The deeper one harrows the better it smells.

[With a bear's skin.]

Look, the cat of the Dovrë! Well, only his fell. It was he chased the trolls out on Christmas Eve