Peer.
Well well, give me time; I will find out a parson,
Confess with all speed, and then bring you his voucher.
The Button-moulder.
Ay, if you can bring me that, then it is clear
You may yet escape from the casting-ladle.
But Peer, I'd my orders
Peer.
The paper is old;
It dates no doubt from a long past period;—
At one time I lived with disgusting slackness,
Went playing the prophet, and trusted in Fate.
Well, may I try?
The Button-moulder.
But!
Peer.
My dear, good man,
I'm sure you can't have so much to do.
Here, in this district, the air is so bracing,
It adds an ell to the people's ages.
Recollect what the Justedal parson wrote:
"It's seldom that any one dies in this valley."
The Button-moulder.
To the next cross-roads then; but not a step further.
Peer.
A priest I must catch, if it be with the tongs.
[He starts running.
