Margit, come here! Fill my cup again. [She approaches; he tries to draw her down on to his knee.] Ha, ha, ha! You are right fair, Margit! I love you well!
Margit.
[Freeing herself.] Let me go!
[Crosses, with the goblet in her hand, to the left.
Bengt.
You are not in the humour to-night. Ha, ha, ha! That means no great matter, I know.
Margit.
[Softly, as she fills the goblet.] Oh, that this might be the last beaker I should fill for you.
[She leaves the goblet on the table and is making her way out to the left.
Bengt.