Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 4).djvu/71



[To the Fiddler, as he flies past, holding a Girl by the hand.]

To it now, Guttorm, and don't spare the fiddle-*strings!

Scrape till it echoes out over the meadows!

[Standing in a ring round a lad who is dancing.]

That's a rare fling!

He has legs that can lift him!

[Dancing.]

The roof here is high, and the walls wide asunder!

[''Comes whimpering up to his, who is standing talking with some other men, and twitches his jacket.'']

Father, she will not; she is so proud!

What won't she do?

She has locked herself in.

Well, you must manage to find the key.