Åse.
Oh, hold your tongue
You're as mad as mad can be.—
Ah, and yet it's true enough,—
Something might have come of you,
Had you not been steeped for ever
In your lies and trash and moonshine.
Hegstad's girl was fond of you.
Easily you could have won her
Had you wooed her with a will
Peer.
Could I?
Åse.
The old man's too feeble
Not to give his child her way.
He is stiff-necked in a fashion;
But at last 'tis Ingrid rules;
And where she leads, step by step
Stumps the gaffer, grumbling, after.
[Begins to cry again.
Ah, my Peer!—a golden girl—
Land entailed on her! Just think,
Had you set your mind upon it,
You'd be now a bridegroom brave,—
You that stand here grimed and tattered!
Peer.
[Briskly.]
Come, we'll go a-wooing then!
Åse.
Where?
Peer.
At Hegstad!
