Margit.
[Brooding.]
Alone he departed, a penniless swain;
With esquires and henchmen now comes he again.
What would he? Comes he, forsooth, to see
My bitter and gnawing misery?
Would he try how long, in my lot accurst,
I can writhe and moan, ere my heart-strings burst—
Thinks he that—? Ah, let him only try!
Full little joy shall he reap thereby.
[She beckons through the doorway on the right. Three handmaidens enter.
List, little maids, what I say to you:
Find me my silken mantle blue.
Go with me into my bower anon:
My richest of velvets and furs do on.
Two of you shall deck me in scarlet and vair,
The third shall wind pearl-strings into my hair.
All my jewels and gauds bear away with ye!
[The handmaids go out to the left, taking the ornaments with them.
Since Margit the Hill-King's bride must be,
Well! don we the queenly livery!
[She goes out to the left.
[Bengt ushers in Gudmund Alfson, through the pent-house passage at the back.
Bengt.
And now once more—welcome under Solhoug's roof, my wife's kinsman.
