He’s shot up apace.
Peer.
Dare you, you troll-snout, father on me——?
The Woman.
Come now, Peer Gynt, you’re as rude as an ox!
[Weeping.
Is it my fault if no longer I’m fair,
As I was when you lured me on hillside and lea?
Last fall, in my labour, the Fiend held my back,
And so ’twas no wonder I came out a fright.