Liv:
«Behold a jocund morn indeed! —
Sun on high — birds in sky.
Yonder the whist firth eathing,
Fro where a gale erranteth.»
Raymond:
«Ye beholdest but the shadow.
Mayhap a tithe of trothplight —
I deem — e'er and anon!»
Liv:
«That is a lie!
Lief I am not!
My words are but a twist.»
Liv:
«'Tis a feignéd lie through loathing, I say!»
Raymod:
«To and fro, save hither, is thy love.»
Liv:
«A dotard gaffer, I daresay…»
Raymod:
«Not a loth, but vying for my kinsmen.»
Liv:
«…a sapling not!»
Raymod:
«Beautiful tyrant!
Fiend angelical!
Dove-featheréd raven!
Wolvish-ravening lamb!
A hamlet for a slothful vassal —
Soothing ale for a parchéd sot.
Hie to tell me what ye judgest as naught;
I behold the shadow!»
Liv:
«Wherefore call me such names;
Nay imp am I!
Thou art my aghast hart —
Grazing in the glade.»
Raymod:
«E'er thou sayest aye!
Thief of a plot!
Now go to thy tryst!»
Liv:
«That is a lie!
Lief I am not!
My words are but a twist!»
Raymod:
«Go, leave, totter!
Until ye dwindlest.
A morsel, nay more,
For thy journey
Hither and thither!»
Liv:
«Fare well! — with joy I came,
With rue I leave
Even the orb
Cannot help me melt the ice?!»