Jatgeir—Ay, lord: no song is born by daylight; it may be written down in the sunshine, but it makes itself in the silent night.
King Skule—Who gave you the gift of sorrow, Jatgeir?
Jatgeir—She whom I loved.
King Skule—She died, then?
Jatgeir—No, she deceived me.
King Skule—And then you became a skald?
Jatgeir—Ay, then I became a skald.
King Skule [seizes him by the arm]—What gift do I need to become a king?
Jatgeir—Not the gift of doubt; else would you not question so.
King Skule—What gift do I need?