Peer.
Old man, don't act like a headstrong ox!
Hear reason, maiden! Let's come to terms.
You must know I'm neither a prince nor rich;—
And whether you measure or whether you weigh me,
Be sure you won't gain much by making me yours.
[The Green-clad One is taken ill, and is carried out by Troll-maids.
The Old Man.
[Looks at him for a while in high disdain; then says:]
Dash him to shards on the rock-walls, children! The Troll-imps. Oh dad, mayn't we play owl-and-eagle first! The wolf-game! Grey-mouse and glow-eyed cat! The Old Man. Yes, but quick. I am worried and sleepy. Goodnight! [He goes.
Peer.
[Hunted by the Troll-imps.]
Let me be, devil's imps!
[Tries to escape up the chimney.
The Imps.
Come brownies! Come nixies!
Bite him behind!
Peer.
Ow!
[Tries to slip down the cellar trap-door.
The Imps.
Shut up all the crannies!
