The spirit you're ready to own with your lips,
But in fact nothing counts that your fists cannot handle.
So you really think, then, that lust matters nought?
Wait; you shall soon have ocular proof of it
Peer.
You don't catch me with a bait of lies!
The Green-clad One.
My Peer, ere the year's out, your child will be born.
Peer
Open doors! let me go!
The Old Man.
In a he-goat's skin.
You shall have the brat after you.
Peer.
[Mopping the sweat off his brow.]
Would I could waken!
The Old Man.
Shall we send him to the palace?
Peer.
You can send him to the parish!
The Old Man.
Well well, Prince Peer; that's your own look-out.
But one thing's certain, what's done is done;
And your offspring, too, will be sure to grow;
Such mongrels shoot up amazingly fast
