The Green-clad One.
Black it seems white, and ugly seems fair.
Peer.
Big it seems little, and dirty seems clean.
The Green-clad One.
[Falling on his neck.]
Ay, Peer, now I see that we fit, you and I! Peer. Like the leg and the trouser, the hair and the comb. The Green-clad One.
[Calls away over the hillside.]
Bridal-steed! Bridal-steed! Come, bridal-steed mine!
[A gigantic pig comes running in with a rope's end for a bridle and an old sack for a saddle. Peer Gynt vaults on its back, and seats the Green-clad One in front of him.
Peer.
Hark-away! Through the Rondë-gate gallop we in!
Gee-up, gee-up, my courser fine!
The Green-clad One.
[Tenderly.]
Ah, but lately I wandered and moped and pined—
One never can tell what may happen to one!
Peer.
[Thrashing the pig and trotting off.]
You may know the great by their riding gear!
