It is as I tell you. My life's at stake; And to live are all men fain. Three nights like a dog 'neath the sky I've lain, My couch on the hillside forced to make, With for pillow the boulder grey. Though too proud to knock at the door of the stranger, And pray him for aid in the hour of danger, Yet strong was my hope as I held on my way: I thought: When to Solhoug you come at last Then all your pains will be done and past. You have sure friends there, whatever betide.-- But hope like a wayside flower shrivels up; Though your husband met me with flagon and cup, And his doors flung open wide, Within, your dwelling seems chill and bare; Dark is the hall; my friends are not there. 'Tis well; I will back to my hills from your halls. (MARGIT: Oh, hear me!) My soul is not base as a thrall's. Now life to me seems a thing of nought; Truly I hold it scarce worth a thought. You have killed all that I hold most dear; Of my fairest hopes I follow the bier. Farewell, then, Dame Margit! (MARGIT: Nay, Gudmund, hear! By all that is holy--!) Live on as before Live on in honour and joyance-- Never shall Gudmund darken your door, Never shall cause you 'noyance.

Gudmund Alfson Monologue from The feast at Solhoug

Rehearse Gudmund Alfson's monologue