[Enter Death; beasts vanish.]
DEATH. Here am I, at your service! What would you me?
PEHR. [Cowers, but recovers himself.] Oh, really!—It was nothing especially pressing—
DEATH. You called me!
PEHR. Did I actually do that? Well, it is only a form of speech which we use; I really want nothing of you.
DEATH. But I want something of you! Stand straight on your legs and I'll cut; it will be over in no time. [Raises scythe.]
PEHR. Mercy, mercy! I don't want to die!
DEATH. Bosh! What has life to offer you who have no wishes left?
PEHR. That one does not know; if one might stop to consider, then perhaps—
DEATH. Oh, you have had ample time; now it is too late. Straighten your back so that you may fall like a real world-hater! [Lifts scythe.]