Gert. That's what Luther has done.
Olof. How can one man check a stream?
Gert. Guide it, you fool—for we are the stream. The old are stagnant mudpools, you don't need to check them, but don't let them rot away or dry up; give them an outlet, and they'll flow with the stream, too.
Olof. Yes, I understand you! You have bred a thought in my soul, but that thought must be strangled in its birth, or it will kill me.
Gert. Believe me, you will be a Daniel, and you will speak the truth unto princes, and they will conspire to take your life; but the Lord will protect you.—Now I can safely leave, for I see lightnings flash from your eyes and tongues of fire flickering over your head. (As he is leaving.) There comes the Lord of Flies: don't let him defile your pure soul also.
Olof. Jesus help me!
[Enter Bishop Brask and Bishop Sommar. Sommar approaches Olof, while Brask remains behind, studying the surroundings.]
Sommar. Who rang vespers, Canonicus?
Olof (calmly but firmly). I did.
Sommar. Didn't you know the order?