Valet.  Will my lord order what wine he desires?

Jeppe.  You know yourself what wine I usually drink in the morning.

Valet.  Here is Rhine-wine, which my lord usually drinks.  But if this doesn’t suit his lordship’s taste, he can have something else immediately.

Jeppe.  That’s a little too sour.  Put some mead in it, and it will be all right; I am for sweet things.

Valet.  Here is some port-wine, if my lord would like to taste it.

Jeppe.  That’s fine wine.  Shout, all of you! (Each time he drinks, trumpets blow.) Hurry up, lad! another glass of pork-wine.  Do you understand?—­Where did you get that ring on your finger?

Secretary.  My lord gave it to me himself.

Jeppe.  I don’t remember it; give it back to me.  I must have been drunk when I did it.  A man doesn’t give away rings like that for nothing.  Later on I’ll look into things and see what else you’ve got away with.  Servants ought not to get anything more than board and wages.  I can swear I don’t remember making you any special present; why should I?  That ring must be worth more than ten rix-dollars.  No, no, my good fellows!  That won’t do at all.  You must not take advantage of your master’s feebleness and drunkenness.  When I’m drunk, I’m perfectly ready to give away my breeches; but when I have slept off my liquor, I take back my gifts.  Otherwise I should get into trouble with Nille, my old woman.  But what am I saying?  I am falling back into my mad notions again and don’t realize who I am.  Give me another glass of pork-wine.  More noise! (Trumpets.) Pay attention to what I say, lads.  I want you to understand that after this, if I give anything away in the evening when I’m drunk and you don’t bring it back in the morning, you will have to answer for it.  When servants are given more than they can eat, they get proud and turn up their noses at the master.  What wages do you get?

Secretary.  My lord has heretofore given me two hundred rix-dollars a year.

Jeppe.  The devil a two hundred you get after this!  What do you do to earn two hundred rix-dollars?  I myself have to slave like a beast, and be on my feet in the hay loft from morning till night, and can scarcely—­See how I come back to my cursed peasant notions.  Give me another glass of wine. (He drinks; trumpets blow again.) Two hundred rix-dollars!  Why, that’s pulling the very hide off your master.  Listen, do you know what, you good lads?  When I have dined, I have a good mind to hang half you fellows here on the estate.  You’ll find out that I am not to be trifled with in money matters.

Valet.  We will give back all that we have received from his lordship.