Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 4).djvu/264



[Shouts.]

Granë, my steed; Who bids?

Where's he running?

Why, far in the west! Near the sunset, my lads! Ah, that courser can fly As fast, ay, as fast as Peer Gynt could lie.

What more have you got?

I've both rubbish and gold! I bought it with ruin; I'll sell it at a loss.

Put it up!

A dream of a silver-clasped book! That you can have for an old hook and eye.

To the devil with dreams!

Here's my Kaiserdom! I throw it in the midst of you; scramble for it!

Is the crown given in?