This page needs to be proofread.
And if you're drown'd in flood and fen,
I'm sentenced to the bolt and lock
Brand.
You suffer in God's service, then.
The Peasant.
Nor his nor yours is my affair;
My own is hard enough to bear.
Come then!
Brand.
Farewell!
[A hollow roar is heard in the distance.
The Son.
[Shrieking.]
An avalanche roar!
Brand.
[To the Peasant who has seized his collar.]
Off!
The Peasant.
Nay!
Brand.
This instant!
The Son.
Stay no more!
The Peasant.
[Struggling with Brand.]
Nay, devil take me!
Brand.
[Shakes him off and throws him down in the snow.]
That, depend
On it, he will do in the end! [Goes.
