(_She fixes JOFRID with her knee, and lifts her hair._)
Pfui,'tis not hair, but sopped and rotting moss-- A thief, a thief indeed.--And twice a thief. She has no ears. Keep thy hooked fingers still While thou art here, for if I miss a mouthful Thou shalt miss all thy nose. Get up, get up; I'll lodge ye with the mares.
JOFRID (_starting up_) Three men, three men, Three men have wived you, and for all you gave them Paid with three blows upon a cheek once kissed-- To every man a blow--and the last blow All the land knows was won by thieving food.... Yea, Gunnar is ended by the theft and the thief. Is it not told that when you first grew tall, A false rare girl, Hrut your own kinsman said, "I know not whence thief's eyes entered our blood." You have more ears, yet are you not my sister? Our evil vagrant heart is deeper in you.
HALLGERD (_snatching the distaff from_ BIARTEY) Out and be gone, be gone. Lie with the mountains, Smother among the thunder; stale dew mould you. Outstrip the hound, or he shall so embrace you....
BIARTEY Now is all done ... all done ... and all your deed. She broke the thread, and it shall not join again. Spindle, spindle, the coiling weft shall dwindle; Leap on the fire and burn, for all is done.
(_She casts the spindle upon the fire, and stretches her hands toward it._)
HALLGERD (_attacking them with the distaff_) Into the night.... Dissolve....
BIARTEY (_as the three rush toward the door_) Sisters, away: Leave the woman to her smouldering beauty, Leave the fire that's kinder than the woman, Leave the roof-tree ere it falls. It falls.
(GUDFINN _joins her. Each time_ HALLGERD _flags they turn as they chant, and point at her._) We shall cry no more in the high rock-places, We are gone from the night, the winds and the clouds are empty: Soon the man in the West shall receive our message.
(JOFRID'S _voice joins the other voices._)
Men reject us, yet their house is unstable. The slayers' hands are warm--the sound of their riding Reached us down the ages, ever approaching.
HALLGERD (_at the same time, her voice high over theirs_) Pack, ye rag-heaps--or I'll unravel you.
THE THREE (_continuously_) House that spurns us, woe shall come upon you: Death shall hollow you. Now we curse the woman-- May all the woes smite her till she can feel them. Shall we not roost in her bower yet? Woe! Woe!