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Peer.
No, you're worth a better fate;
Better twenty thousand times!
Little, ugly, dear old mother,
You may safely trust my word,—
All the parish shall exalt you;
Only wait till I have done
Something—something really grand
Åse.
[Contemptuously.]
You!
Peer.
Who knows what may befall one
Åse.
Could you but find so much sense,
One day, as to do the darning
Of your breeches for yourself!
Peer.
[Hotly.]
I will be a king, a kaiser!
Åse.
Oh, God comfort me, he's losing
All the little wits he'd left!
Peer.
Yes, I will! Just give me time!
Åse.
Give you time, you'll be a prince,
So the saying goes, I think!
Peer.
You shall see!
