The Old Man.
We troll-folk, my son, are less black than we're painted;[1]
That's another distinction between you and us.—
But the serious part of the meeting is over;
Now let us gladden our ears and our eyes.
Music-maid, forth! Set the Dovrë-harp sounding!
Dancing-maid, forth! Tread the Dovrë-hall's floor! [Music and a dance.
The Courtier.
How like you it?
Peer.
Like it? H'm
The Old Man.
Speak without fear!
What see you?
Peer.
Why something unspeakably grim:[2]
A bell-cow with her hoof on a gut-harp strumming.
A sow in socklets a-trip to the tune.
The Courtiers.
Eat him!
The Old Man.
His sense is but human, remember!
Troll-Maidens.
Hu, tear away both his ears and his eyes!
Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 4).djvu/116
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