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Åse.
Fie now! Would you crown our miseries
With a load of all men's scorn?
Peer.
Never fear; 'twill all go well.
[Shouting and laughing at the same time
Mother, jump! We'll spare the waggon;
'Twould take time to fetch the mare up
[Lifts her up in his arms.
Åse.
Put me down!
Peer.
No, in my arms
I will bear you to the wedding!
[Wades out into the stream.
Åse.
Help! The Lord have mercy on us!
Peer! We're drowning
Peer.
I was born
For a braver death
Åse.
Ay, true;
Sure enough you'll hang at last!
[Tugging at his hair.
Oh, you brute!
Peer.
Keep quiet now;
Here the bottom's slippery-slimy.
Åse.
Ass!
