Stiver Monologue from Love's Comedy

From Love's Comedy by Henrik Ibsen

male · defiant · 1:18 min

Officially it's called a transcript book; A protocol's the clasp upon the veil of snow That shrouds the modest breast of the Bureau. What lies beneath you must not seek to know. (FALK: And yet I only spoke at your desire; You hinted at your literary crop.) How should I guess he'd grovel in the mire So deep, this parson perch'd on fortune's top, A man with snug appointments, children, wife, And money to defy the ills of life? If such a man prove such a Philistine, What shall of us poor copyists be said? Of me, who drive the quill and rule the line, A man engaged and shortly to be wed, With family in prospect--and so forth? [More vehemently. O, if I only had a well-lined berth, I'd bind the armour'd helmet on my head, And cry defiance to united earth! And were I only unengaged like you, Trust me, I'd break a road athwart the snow Of prose, and carry the Ideal through! (FALK: To work then, man!) How?

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