The Old Man.
My son, that "Enough," that most potent and sundering
Word, must be graven upon your escutcheon.
Peer.
[Scratching his head.]
Well, but The Old Man. It <g>must</g>, if you here would be master! Peer. Oh well, let it pass; after all, it's no worse The Old Man. And next you must learn to appreciate Our homely, everyday way of life.
[He beckons; two Trolls with pigs'-heads, white night-caps, and so forth, bring in food and drink.
The cow gives cakes and the bullock mead;
Ask not if its taste be sour or sweet;
The main matter is, and you mustn't forget it,
It's all of it home-brewed.
Peer.
[Pushing the things away from him.]
The devil fly off with your home-brewed drinks
I'll never get used to the ways of this land.
The Old Man.
The bowl's given in, and it's fashioned of gold.
Whoso own the gold bowl, him my daughter holds dear.
