Moscardinho

Ophrys bombyliflora Link

Button Moulder — Hello, old man.
Peer — Good evening, friend.
Button Moulder — In a hurry? What are you doing, here on this empty moor?
Peer — Moving towards my death. What else?
Button Moulder — Ah. Excuse me... my eyes aren't what they were. Are you Peer Gynt?
Peer — So people say.
Button Moulder — Perfect! The man I was sent to find.
Peer — What for?
Button Moulder — Easy. I'm a button moulder. You're to go in my ladle.
Peer — Why?
Button Moulder — To be melted down.
Peer — Pardon?
Button Moulder — Here's the ladle, wiped and waiting. Your grave's dug. Your coffin's ordered. My orders are to fetch your soul to the Boss at once.
Peer — Without a word of notice?
Button Moulder — That's how it's always done. Births... burials. Day chosen on the quiet. Not a word to the guest of honour.
Peer — I don't feel well. Oh Peer! What an end to your journey! I wasn't all that bad. An idiot, perhaps. Not a proper sinner.
Button Moulder — Precisely. Not a proper sinner. You were not bad enough for the sulphur-pit, nor good enough for paradise. That's why you go to the casting ladle with the others.
Peer — You're going to melt me down, and start again?
Button Moulder — That's right. Like worn out coins.
Peer — I refuse. I won't.
Button Moulder — What's all the fuss about? It's not important. You were never yourself, alive — why do you care what happens when you're dead?
Peer — Never myself? You're joking! Never myself — Peer Gynt? What else have I ever been? I am Peer. All Peer.
Button Moulder — You have been selfish, but not yourself.

Henrik Ibsen, Peer Gynt (1867; trad. Kenneth McLeish)