The Feast at Solhoug

by Henrik Ibsen

KNUT.

[As before.] Well, briefly, he should have learnt that the axe sits loose in my hand, as you said but now.

BENGT.

[Softly.] There we have it! Margit, Margit, this will never end well.

MARGIT.

[To KNUT.] You asked for a forthright answer, and that I have given you.

KNUT.

Well, well; I will not reckon too closely with you, Dame Margit. You have more wit than all the rest of us together. Here is my hand;—it may be there was somewhat of reason in the keen-edged words you spoke to me.

MARGIT.

This I like well; now are you already on the right way to amendment. Yet one word more—to-day we hold a feast at Solhoug.