Bibliotheca Polyglotta

Complete text

FRØKEN SKÆRE
(ser sig om).
Men Svanhild, som så ivrig var især –?
Da Falk begyndte, fik med ét hun vinger;
nu er hun borte.

MISS JAY
[looking round].
But Svanhild, who was eagerest to hear--?
When Falk began, she suddenly took wing
And vanished--

ANNA
(peger mod baggrunden).
Nej, hun sidder der.

ANNA
[pointing towards the back].
No, for there she sits--I see her.

FRU HALM
(med et suk).
Det barn! Gud véd, når jeg får skik på hende!

MRS. HALM
[sighing].
That child! Heaven knows, she’s past my comprehending!

FRØKEN SKÆRE.
Men sig, herr Falk, mig syntes visens ende
var mindre rig på – sådan – poesi,
som ellers findes hist og her deri.

MISS JAY.
But, Mr. Falk, I thought the lyric’s ending
Was not so rich in--well, in poetry,
As others of the stanzas seemed to be.

STYVER.
Ja, og det var dog ganske visst så let,
at få lidt mer mod slutningen placeret.

STIVER.
Why yes, and I am sure it could not tax
Your powers to get a little more inserted--

FALK
(klinker med ham).
Man kliner ind, lig kit i revnet bræt,
til den blir fed nok, spækket, marmoreret.

FALK
[clinking glasses with him].
You cram it in, like putty into cracks,
Till lean is into streaky fat converted.

STYVER
(uforstyrret).
Ja, det går glat; jeg husker det så godt
ifra mig selv.

STIVER
[unruffled].
Yes, nothing easier--I, too, in my day
Could do the trick.

GULDSTAD.
Hvad? Har De Musen redet?

GULDSTAD.
Dear me! Were you a poet?

FRØKEN SKÆRE.
Min kæreste? Gud ja!

MISS JAY.
My Stiver! Yes!

STYVER.
Å, kun så småt.

STIVER.
Oh, in a humble way.

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