Drink, gentlemen! If man is made For pleasure, let him take his fill then. You know ’tis written: Lost is lost, And gone is gone——. What may I hand you? TRUMPETERSTRÅLE. As host you’re princely, Brother Gynt! PEER. I share the honour with my cash, With cook and steward—— MR. COTTON. Very well;[67] Let’s pledge a toast to all the four! MONSIEUR BALLON. Monsieur,[68] you have a _gout_,[68] a _ton_,[68] That nowadays is seldom met with Among men living _en garçon_,—[68] A certain—what’s the word——? VON EBERKOPF. A dash, A tinge of free soul-contemplation, And cosmopolitanisation,[69] An outlook through the cloudy rifts By narrow prejudice unhemmed, A stamp of high illumination, An _Ur-Natur_,[68] with lore of life, To crown the trilogy, united. _Nicht wahr_, Monsieur, ’twas that you meant? MONSIEUR BALLON. Yes, very possible; not quite So loftily it sounds in French. VON EBERKOPF. _Ei was!_[70] That language is so stiff.— But the phenomenon’s final cause If we would seek—— PEER. It’s found already. The reason is that I’m unmarried. Yes, gentlemen, completely clear The matter is. What should a man be? Himself, is my concise reply. He should regard himself and his. But can he, as a sumpter-mule[71] For others’ woe and others’ weal? VON EBERKOPF. But this same in-and-for-yourself-ness, I’ll answer for’t, has cost you strife—— PEER. Ah yes, indeed; in former days; But always I came off with honour. Yet one time I ran very near To being trapped against my will. I was a brisk and handsome lad, And she to whom my heart was given, She was of royal family—— MONSIEUR BALLON. Of royal——? PEER. [_Carelessly._] One of those old stocks, You know the kind—— TRUMPETERSTRÅLE. [_Thumping the table._] Those noble-trolls. PEER. [_Shrugging his shoulders_.] Old fossil Highnesses who make it Their pride to keep plebeian blots Excluded from their line’s escutcheon. MR. COTTON. Then nothing came of the affair? MONSIEUR BALLON. The family opposed the marriage? PEER. Far from it! MONSIEUR BALLON.