FALK.
De har nok højlig misforstået mig, frøken.
Når har jeg nægtet disse ting var til?
Men De må komme vel ihug, at røgen
er ikke altid just bevis på ild.
Jeg véd så såre vel, man tar til ægte,
familje stiftes, og deslige ting;
De skal visst aldrig høre mig benægte,
at der i verden findes kurv og ring,
at rosenrøde små billetter skrives
og lukkes med et duepar, som – kives,
at der går kærester i hver en gade,
at gratulanterne får chocolade,
at skik og brug har formet et reskript
med egne regler for enhver „forliebt“; – –
men Herregud, vi har jo og majorer,
et arsenal med stort materiel,
her findes trommer, huggerter og sporer, –
men hvad beviser så det hele vel?
Blot at vi ejer folk med sværd ved belte,
men ingenlunde at vi ejer helte.
Ja, selv om hele lejren fuld af telte stod, –
var det da derfor sagt der gaves heltemod?
FALK.
Madam, you quite mistake. In all I spoke
I cast no doubt on anything you claim;
But I would fain remind you that, from smoke,
We cannot logically argue flame.
That men are married, and have children, I
Have no desire whatever to deny;
Nor do I dream of doubting that such things
Are in the world as troth and wedding-rings;
The billets-doux some tender hands indite
And seal with pairs of turtle doves that--fight;
That sweethearts swarm in cottage and in hall,
That chocolate reward the wedding call;
That usage and convention have decreed,
In every point, how “Lovers” shall proceed:--
But, heavens! We’ve majors also by the score,
Arsenals heaped with muniments of war,
With spurs and howitzers and drums and shot,
But what does that permit us to infer?
That we have men who dangle swords, but not
That they will wield the weapons that they wear.
Tho’ all the plain with gleaming tents you crowd,
Does that make heroes of the men they shroud?
