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To Soria-Moria Castle
The road ran both high and low.
A stick that we found in the closet,
For a whip-shaft you made it serve.
Åse.
Right proudly I perked on the box-seat
Peer.
Ay, ay; you threw loose the reins,
And kept turning round as we travelled,
And asked me if I was cold.
God bless you, ugly old mother,—
You were ever a kindly soul!
What's hurting you now?
Åse.
My back aches,
Because of the hard, bare boards.
Peer.
Stretch yourself; I'll support you.
There now, you're lying soft.
Åse.
[Uneasily.]
No, Peer, I'd be moving!
Peer.
Moving?
Åse.
Ay, moving; 'tis ever my wish.
Peer.
Oh, nonsense! Spread o'er you the bed-fur.
