Gert. There are two kinds of madmen. One kind is sent to the hospital and treated with pills and cold baths. Those of the other kind have their heads cut off. It is a radical treatment, but then, for a fact, they are rather dangerous.
Olof. I'll go to the King. He cannot wish such dreadful things to happen.
Gert. Take care of your head, Olof!
Olof. Take care of your own, Father Gert!
Gert. No danger in my case, for I have a warrant for the asylum.
Olof. I cannot bear to see these things. I am going to the King, even if it cost my life. (He goes toward the door.)
Gert. This is a matter not to be settled by the King. You should appeal to the law.
Olof. The King is the law!
Gert. Unfortunately!—If the horse knew his own strength, he would never be mad enough, as he is now, to bear the yoke. But when once in a while he gets his reason back and runs away from his oppressors, then they call him mad—Let us pray the Lord to give these poor creatures their reason back!