Fair maidens a-many they sigh and they pine: "Ah God, that Nils Lykke were mine, mine, mine!"
Nils Lykke.
Alas, 'tis women of twenty and thereabouts that ditty speaks of. Lady Inger Gyldenlöve is nigh on fifty, and wily to boot beyond all women. 'Twill be no light matter to overmatch her. But it must be done—at any cost. Should I contrive to win certain advantages over her that the King has long desired, I can reckon on the embassy to France next spring. You know that I spent three years at the University in Paris? My whole soul is set on coming thither again, most of all if I can appear in lofty place, a king's ambassador.—Well, then—is it agreed—do you leave Lady Inger to me? Remember—when you were last at Court in Copenhagen, I made way for you with more than one fair lady
Jens Bielke.
Nay, truly now—that generosity cost you little; one and all of them were at your beck and call. But let that pass; now that I have begun amiss in this matter, I had as lief that you should take it on your shoulders. Yet one thing you must promise—if the young Count Sture be in Östråt, you will deliver him into my hands, dead or alive!
Nils Lykke.
You shall have him all alive. I, at any rate, mean not to kill him. But now you must ride
