You, who would not live for me!
Jatgeir.
A man can die for another’s life-work; but if he go on living, he must live for his own.
[Goes.
Paul Flida.
[Impatiently.] Your commands, my lord! The Birchlegs may be in Oslo this very hour.
King Skule.
’Twere best if we could fare to St. Thomas Beckett’s grave; he has helped so many a sorrowful and penitent soul.
Paul Flida.
[More forcibly.] My lord, speak not so wildly now; I tell you, the Birchlegs are upon us!