LOKE. What disturbeth
A fortune which thy foe himself, which Skulda,
Which heavenly and subterranean powers
Establish with united strength?
HOTHER. Old dreamer!
Lend me a spear, and better right hand shall
Establish it than all the powers thou namest!
LOKE. I know thy state of mind and wretched project.
By Nastroud, that worst of fools, if Balder
Had not thine eyes with Asa magic blinded,
And hid each dagger, each abyss thou soughtest,
Ere now in mist thou’dst unreveng’d been lying!
HOTHER. What, has he hindered me, the noble, proud one!
LOKE. Yes, proud; for he despises thee.
HOTHER. Despises!
LOKE. And think’st thou he for sake of pleasing Nanna
Would e’er have deign’d to guard thee from destruction,
If he had much regarded Hother’s anger,
And if thy love one grain of sand he heeded?
HOTHER. Bad art thou, Vanfred; all thy words are poison’d.
LOKE (incensed). Ha! Hother, thou reward’st in evil fashion
The friendship and the happiness I bring thee.
HOTHER. What happiness?