Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 3).djvu/159

The Mayor.

Why, what should be the end of war
But reasonable terms of peace?
To kick at pricks is not my way,
I'm made of common human clay;
When at your breast the lance you feel
It is but reason to give place;—
With but a switch to parry steel,
'Tis just to make a volte-face;
Left of your cause the sole defender,
It is the wisest to surrender.

Brand.

Two things are noticeable here.
First, that you call me strong. Of men
I have the larger part.

The Mayor.

                        That's clear.

Brand.

Now, possibly: but when shall rise
The great dread day of sacrifice,
Who will have more supporters <g>then</g>?

The Mayor.

Of sacrifice? Why, goodness me,
That's just the day we never see
At least, the sacrifice no worse is
Than drafts upon good people's purses;
The age is too humane to bring
Any more costly offering.
And what's most vexing is, that I
Myself have all along been noted
Of those who the Humane promoted