Einar.
Well, well, the indictment I endorse
With all my heart; but can't divine
What in the world it has to do
With Him, the God you count a corse,
Whom yet I still acknowledge mine.
Brand.
My genial friend, your gift is Art;—
Show me the God you have averr'd.
Him you have painted, I have heard,
And touch'd the honest people's heart.
Old is he haply; am I right?
Einar.
Well, yes
Brand.
Of course; and, doubtless, white?
Hairs straggling on a reverend head,
A beard of ice or silver-thread;
Kindly, yet stern enough to fright
A pack of children in the night.
I will not ask you, if your God
With fireside slippers you have shod;
But 'twere a pity, without doubt,
To leave skull-cap and glasses out.
Einar.
[Angrily.]
What do you mean?
Brand.
I do not flout;
Just so he looks in form and face,
