The Feast at Solhoug

by Henrik Ibsen

MARGIT.

[Whose mental struggle is visibly becoming more severe, involuntarily takes out the phial as she says:] No doubt no doubt!

BENGT.

Ha, ha, ha! it may be that at first Gudmund will look askance at me when I take you in my arms; but that, I doubt not, he will soon get over.

MARGIT.

This is more than woman can bear! [Pours the contents of the phial into the goblet, goes to the window and throws out the phial, then says, without looking at him.] Your beaker is full.

BENGT.

Then bring it hither!

MARGIT.

[Battling in an agony of indecision, at last says.] I pray you drink no more to-night!