Ay, ay; you threw loose the reins, And kept turning round as we travelled, And asked me if I was cold. God bless you, ugly old mother,— You were ever a kindly soul——! What’s hurting you now? ÅSE. My back aches, Because of the hard, bare boards. PEER. Stretch yourself; I’ll support you. There now, you’re lying soft. ÅSE. [_Uneasily._] No, Peer, I’d be moving! PEER. Moving? ÅSE. Ay, moving; ’tis ever my wish. PEER. Oh, nonsense! Spread o’er you the bed-fur. Let me sit at your bedside here. There; now we’ll shorten the evening With many a lilt and lay. ÅSE. Best bring from the closet the prayer-book: I feel so uneasy of soul. PEER. In Soria-Moria Castle The King and the Prince give a feast. On the sledge-cushions lie and rest you; I’ll drive you there over the heath—— ÅSE. But, Peer dear, am I invited? PEER. Ay, that we are, both of us. [_He throws a string round the back of the chair on which the cat is lying, takes up a stick, and seats himself at the foot of the bed._ Gee-up! Will you stir yourself, Black-boy? Mother, you’re not a-cold? Ay, ay; by the pace one knows it, When Granë[62] begins to go! ÅSE. Why, Peer, what is it that’s ringing——? PEER. The glittering sledge-bells, dear! ÅSE. Oh, mercy, how hollow it’s rumbling PEER. We’re just driving over a fiord. ÅSE. I’m afraid! What is that I hear rushing And sighing so strange and wild? PEER. It’s the sough of the pine-trees, mother, On the heath. Do you but sit still. ÅSE. There’s a sparkling and gleaming afar now; Whence comes all that blaze of light. PEER. From the castle’s windows and doorways. Don’t you hear, they are dancing? ÅSE. Yes. PEER. Outside the door stands St. Peter, And prays you to enter in. ÅSE. Does he greet us? PEER. He does, with honour, And pours out the sweetest wine.