Icelin. Hough, hough. Where is my stick—my stick?Say, then,
When shall I marry Gorm?
Dansberg. When shall I marry Gorm?Hough, hough, hough, hough.
Let us go in and think o’t.
Icelin. Let us go in and think o’t.Tell me now.
Dansberg.Then give me first your arm to help me rise. (Rises.)
A good girl—so. Your arm is thin but firm—
Thinner but firmer than your mother’s. Tut!
Poor daughter, daughter. Dead, dead, dead, so long!
When that my blindness first did seize upon me,