Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 3).djvu/170

The Mayor.

Just so! They are so very old
That not a trace of them is left.
But in my late grandfather's day
A wall-hole still defied decay!

Brand.

A wall-hole?

The Mayor.

             Fit to hold a tun!

Brand.

But the wall's self?

The Mayor.

                     Oh, that was gone.
In plain terms then, I am compell'd
To say, your scheme is out of court:—
A barbarous and unparallel'd
Horrible sacrilege, in short.
And then the money,—do you dream
These folks are so profuse in spending,
That they'll contrive new cost by lending
Existence to a half-hatch'd scheme?
When with a little deftness they
May so far patch the crumbling wall
That in <g>our</g> time it will not fall?
But just go out!—the field survey,—
You'll find, I'm winner after all.

Brand.

From no man will I wring a jot
To give my God house-harbourage:
With my own goods it shall be wrought;
In that one work my heritage