MONS. Don't you know the hornet that buzzes before it stings?
ANDERS. That's the kind of noise he made that Ash Wednesday at Tuna Flat.
INGHEL. Don't mention that blood-bath, or I can't control myself. [Passionately] Don't talk of it!
NILS. Hear him spinning, spinning like a cat! No, don't trust him!
The roll of the drums comes nearer.
STIG. Might it not be wise for you, as personal friends of the King, to meet him and bid the stem master welcome?
MONS. I wonder. Then he might not come here afterward....
WIFE. Stay, Mons! Stay where you are!
MONS. Oh, the place smells of spruce, and the drums are flattened as for a funeral. [Somebody raps three times at the door from the outside] Who's that?
[He goes to the door and opens it.