(THORBRAND _sinks backward from the wall and is heard to fall farther. Immediately_ ASBRAND THORLEIKSSON _starts up in his place._) ASBRAND (_striking repeatedly with a sword_) Oh, down, down, down! GUNNAR (_parrying the blows with the bill_) Ay, Asbrand, thou as well? Thy brother Thorbrand was up here but now: He has gone back the other way, maybe-- Be hasty, or you'll not come up with him. (_He thrusts with the bill_: ASBRAND _lifts a shield before the blow._) Here's the first shield that I have seen to-night. (_The bill pierces the shield_: ASBRAND _disappears and is heard to fall._ GUNNAR _turns from the casement._) Hallgerd, my harp that had but one long string, But one low song, but one brief wingy flight, Is voiceless, for my bowstring is cut off. Sever two locks of hair for my sake now, Spoil those bright coils of power, give me your hair, And with my mother twist those locks together Into a bowstring for me. Fierce small head, Thy stinging tresses shall scourge men forth by me. HALLGERD Does ought lie on it? GUNNAR Nought but my life lies on it; For they will never dare to close on me If I can keep my bow bended and singing. HALLGERD (_tossing back her hair_) Then now I call to your mind that bygone blow You gave my face; and never a whit do I care If you hold out a long time or a short. GUNNAR Every man who has trod a warship's deck, And borne a weapon of pride, has a proud heart And asks not twice for any little thing. Hallgerd, I'll ask no more from you, no more. RANNVEIG (_tearing off her wimple_) She will not mar her honour of widowhood. Oh, widows' manes are priceless.... Off, mean wimple-- I am a finished widow, why do you hide me? Son, son who knew my bosom before hers, Look down and curse for an unreverend thing An old bald woman who is no use at last. These bleachy-threads, these tufts of death's first combing, And loosening heartstrings twisted up together Would not make half a bowstring. Son, forgive me.... GUNNAR A grasping woman's gold upon her head Is made for hoarding, like all other gold: A spendthrift woman's gold upon her head Is made for spending on herself. Let be-- She goes her heart's way, and I go to earth. (AUNUND'S _head rises above the wall near_ GUNNAR.) What, are you there? AUNUND Yea, Gunnar, we are here. GUNNAR (_thrusting with the bill_) Then bide you there. (AUNUND'S _head sinks_; THORGEIR'S _rises in the same place._) How many heads have you? THORGEIR But half as many as the feet we grow on. GUNNAR And I've not yet used up (_thrusting again_) all my hands.