Wisdom in extremes is folly; Coward blossoms into tyrant; Truth, when carried to excess, Ends in wisdom written backwards. Ay, my daughter, I’m forsworn As a dog if there are not Folk with o’erfed souls on earth Who shall scarce attain to clearness. Once I met with such a fellow, Of the flock the very flower; And even he mistook his goal, Losing sense in blatant sound.— See the waste round this oasis. Were I but to swing my turban, I could force the ocean-flood To fill up the whole concern. But I were a blockhead, truly Seas and lands to go creating. Know you what it is to live? ANITRA. Teach me! PEER. It is to be wafted Dry-shod down the stream of time, Wholly, solely as oneself. Only in full manhood can I Be the man I am, dear child! Aged eagle moults his plumage, Aged fogey lags declining, Aged dame has ne’er a tooth left, Aged churl gets withered hands,— One and all get withered souls. Youth! Ah Youth! I mean to reign, As a sultan, whole and fiery,— Not on Gyntiana’s shores, Under trellised vines and palm-leaves,— But enthronëd[92] in the freshness Of a woman’s virgin thoughts.— See you now, my little maiden, Why I’ve graciously bewitched you,— Why I have your heart selected, And established, so to speak, _There_ my being’s Caliphate? All your longings shall be mine. I’m an _autocrat_ in passion! You shall live for me alone. I’ll be he who shall enthrall You like gold and precious stones. Should we part, then life is over,— That is, _your_ life, _nota bene_! Every inch and fibre of you, Will-less, without yea or nay, I must know filled full of me. Midnight beauties of your tresses, All that’s lovely to be named, Shall, like Babylonian gardens, Tempt your Sultan to his tryst. After all, I don’t complain, then, Of your empty forehead-vault. With a soul, one’s oft absorbed in Contemplation of oneself. Listen, while we’re on the subject,— If you like it, faith, you shall Have a ring about your ankle:— ’Twill be best for both of us. _I_ will be your soul by proxy; For the rest—why, _status quo_. [_ANITRA snores._ What! She sleeps! Then has it glided Bootless past her, all I’ve said?— No; it marks my influence o’er her That she floats away in dreams On my love-talk as it flows. [_Rises, and lays trinkets in her lap._ Here are jewels! Here are more! Sleep, Anitra! Dream of Peer——. Sleep! In sleeping, you the crown have Placed upon your Emperor’s brow! Victory on his Person’s basis Has Peer Gynt this night achieved. SCENE EIGHTH. _A caravan route. The oasis is seen far off in the background._