Monologue

Margit Monologue from The feast at Solhoug

From The feast at Solhoug by Henrik Ibsen

female · defiant · 1:13 min

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Ere that may be, I must tell you plain, You must rid yourself of your ravening train. You must scour no longer with yell and shout O'er the country-side in a galloping rout; You must still the shudder that spreads around When Knut Gesling is to a bride-ale bound. Courteous must your mien be when a-feasting you ride; Let your battle-axe hang at home at the chimney-side-- It ever sits loose in your hand, well you know, When the mead has gone round and your brain is aglow. From no man his rightful gear shall you wrest, You shall harm no harmless maiden; You shall send no man the shameless hest That when his path crosses yours, he were best Come with his grave-clothes laden. And if you will so bear you till the year be past, You may win my sister for your bride at last.

About this piece

20s · determination · honor · power · family · redemption

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