Thread-clue! you accursed scamp! Would you trip your father’s heels? [_Flees._ WITHERED LEAVES. [_Flying before the wind._] We are a watchword; Thou shouldst have proclaimed us! See how thy dozing Has wofully riddled us. The worm has gnawed us. In every crevice; We have never twined us Like wreaths round fruitage. PEER. Not in vain your birth, however;— but still and serve as manure. A SIGHING IN THE AIR. We are songs; Thou shouldst have sung us!— A thousand times over Hast thou cowed us and smothered us. Down in thy heart’s pit We have lain and waited;— We were never called forth. Thy gorge we poison! PEER. Poison thee, thou foolish stave! Had I time for verse and stuff? [_Attempts a short cut._ DEWDROPS. [_Dripping from the branches._] We are tears Unshed for ever. Ice-spears, sharp-wounding, We could have melted. Now the barb rankles In the shaggy bosom;— The wound is closed over; Our power is ended. PEER. Thanks;—I wept in Rondë-cloisters,— None the less my tail-part smarted! BROKEN STRAWS. We are deeds; Thou shouldst have achieved us! Doubt, the throttler, Has crippled and riven us. On the Day of Judgment We’ll come a-flock, And tell the story,— Then woe to you! PEER. Rascal-tricks! How dare you debit What is _negative_ against me? [_Hastens away._ ÅSE’S VOICE. [_Far away._] Fie, what a post-boy! Hu, you’ve upset me Here in the slush, boy! Sadly it’s smirched me.— You’ve driven me the wrong way. Peer, where’s the castle? The Fiend has misled you With the switch from the cupboard. PEER. Better haste away, poor fellow! With the devil’s sins upon you, Soon you’ll faint upon the hillside;— Hard enough to bear one’s own sins. [_Runs off._ SCENE SEVENTH. _Another part of the heath._ PEER GYNT. [_Sings._] A sexton! A sexton! where are you, hounds? A song from braying precentor-mouths: Around your hat-brim a mourning band;— My dead are many; I must follow their biers! _THE BUTTON-MOULDER, with a box of tools and a large casting-ladle, comes from a side path._ THE BUTTON-MOULDER. Well met, old gaffer! PEER.