Peer.
Why Aslak, to be sure.
Åse.
Shame—and shame; I spit upon you!
Such a worthless sot as that,
Such a brawler, such a sodden
Dram-sponge to have beaten you!
[Weeping again.
Many a shame and slight I've suffered;
But that this should come to pass
Is the worst disgrace of all.
What if he be ne'er so limber,
Need you therefore be a weakling?
Peer.
Though I hammer or am hammered,—
Still we must have lamentations.
[Laughing
Cheer up, mother
Åse.
What? You're lying
Now again?
Peer.
Yes, just this once.
Come now, wipe your tears away;—
[Clenching his left hand.
See,—with this same pair of tongs,
Thus I held the smith bent double,
While my sledge-hammer right fist
Åse.
Oh, you brawler! You will bring me
With your doings to the grave!
