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Some.
Home!
Others.
Too late!
Too late! Along the height press on!
The Mayor.
[Enters in haste.]
O lucky chance I caught you up
Women.
Ah, dear kind master, don't be stern
The Mayor.
Not now; provided you return!
A better day, a brighter season
Dawns for us! If you'll hark to reason,
You'll all be rich men ere you sup!
Several.
How so?
The Mayor.
There is a herring-horde
By millions swimming in the fjord!
The Multitude.
What does he say?
The Mayor.
Set all to rights!
Fly from these stormy uplands bare.
Till now the herrings swam elsewhere;
Now, friends, at last, our barren bights
Good fortune tardily requites.
