It's the Boyg that's unwounded, and the Boyg that was hurt,
It's the Boyg that is dead, and the Boyg that's alive.
Peer.
[Throws away the branch.]
The weapon is troll-smeared;[1] but I have my fists!
[Fights his way forward.
The Voice.
Ay, trust to your fists, lad, trust to your body.
Hee-hee, Peer Gynt, so you'll reach the summit.
Peer.
[Falling back again.]
Forward or back, and it's just as far;—
Out or in, and it's just as strait!<ref><poem>
"Atter og fram, det er lige langt;—
ud og ind, det er lige trangt!"
</ref> He is <g>there</g>! And <g>there</g>! And he's round the bend! No sooner I'm out than I'm back in the ring.— Name who you are! Let me see you! What are you?
The Voice.
The Boyg.
Peer. </poem>
[Groping around.]
Not dead, not living; all slimy; misty.
Not so much as a shape! It's as bad as to battle
In a cluster of snarling, half-wakened bears!
[Screams.
Strike back at me, can't you!
- ↑ Rendered harmless by magical anointing.
