Harlot. No!
Olof (seizing the letter of excommunication). Well, then! The great bishop of the small city of Linköping has sold my soul to Satan for the term of my life—for farther than that his power does not reach—and he has done so because I bade the people seek their Lord when they had been prohibited from doing so! Here is the contract! As the Church, by that contract, has bound me to hell, so I set myself free from it (he tears the letter to pieces)—and from the ban of the Church, too! So help me God! Amen!
Crowd (howling). Anathema!
Mårten. Down with him! At him! He is banned!
Olof (placing himself in front of the Harlot). Do you hear the devils yelling for their victim?—Dare not to touch me!
Mårten. At him! Down with him!
[Just as one of the mercenaries raises his weapon to strike, the iron door in the rear is flung open, and the Anabaptists, headed by Knipperdollink, come rushing in, uttering wild cries. They carry broken crucifixes and images of saints as well as torn vestments. All those in the room before are forced toward the street door.]
Knipperdollink (as he pushes back the iron door and enters ahead of the rest). Come here, folk—here's another sanctum!—What's this? A drinkshop in the temple!—Look ye! Look ye—the abomination has gone so far that the tabernacle itself is being polluted. But I will cleanse it with fire. Set fire to the church and prepare a stake for the saints!
Olof (stepping forward). Consider what you propose to do!
Knipperdollink. Are you afraid that the beer kegs will burst from the heat, you Belial? Are you the popish tapster who thought it not robbery to build vice a chapel in the very wall of the church?