Duke Skule.
You will not fight with me? You shall, you shall!
Håkon.
Oh blinded man! I cannot but pity you. You think ’tis the Lord’s calling that draws you toward the throne; you see not that ’tis nought but pride of heart. What is it that allures you? The royal circlet, the purple-bordered mantle, the right to be seated three steps above the floor;—pitiful, pitiful: Were that kingship, I would cast it into your hat, as I cast a groat to a beggar.
Duke Skule.
You have known me since your childhood, and you judge me thus!
Håkon.
You have wisdom and courage and all noble gifts of the mind; you are born to stand nearest a king, but not to be a king yourself.
Duke Skule.
That will we now put to the proof!