By a child to <g>Death's</g> font borne,
Oh, what riches have I still!
A sharp knock at the outer door; Agnes turns with a
cry, and at the same moment sees Brand. The
door is burst open, and a Woman, raggedly
dressed, enters hastily, with a child in her arms.
The Woman.
[Looking at the child's clothes, calls to Agnes.]
Thou rich mother, share with me!
Agnes.
Thou art richer far!
The Woman.
I see,
Thou art of the common breed,
Cramm'd with words, and void of deed.
Brand.
[Approaching her.]
Tell me what thou seekest.
The Woman.
<g>Thee</g>,
Troth, I do not seek, at least!
Rather to the wind and rain
Will I hurry out again,
Than be sermon'd by a priest;
Rather to the wild sea fly,
Drown and rot beneath the sky,
Than I'll hear the black man tell
How I'm on my way to hell;
Can I help—the devil take me—
Being what God chose to make me?
