Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 3).djvu/247

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Stop!—ye go to ruin and wrack!—
(Dogs! And not a word comes back!)

The Dean.

Think of household and of home!

Voices from the Multitude.

To a greater Home we come!

The Mayor.

Think of meadow-plot and field;
Think of teeming stall and fold!

Voices.

Heavenly dews did manna yield
When the chosen starved of old!

The Dean.

Hark! your women cry in chorus

Voices.


[In the distance.]


Ours they are not if they quail!

The Dean.

"Father's gone!" your children wail.

The whole Multitude.

Be against us, or be for us!

The Dean.


[Gazes a while with folded hands after them; then dejectedly.]


By his faithless flock deserted
Stands the old shepherd, heavy-hearted,
Plunder'd to the very skin!