"That cow is not joyful at being driven by you!" said Cuchulain. "The
cow does not belong to you," said the woman, "she is not the cow of any
friend or acquaintance of yours." "The cows of Ulster," said
Cuchulain, "are my proper (care)." "Dost thou give a decision about
the cow?" said the woman; "the task is too great to which thy hand is
set, O Cuchulain." "Why is it the woman who answers me?" said
Cuchulain, "why was it not the man?" "It was not the man whom you
addressed," said the woman. "Ay," said Cuchulain, "(I did address
him), though thyself hath answered for him:"
"h-Uar-gaeth-sceo-luachair-sceo[FN#121] is his name," said she.
[FN#121] Cold-wind-and-much-rushes.
"Alas! his name is a wondrous one," said Cuchulain. "Let it be thyself
who answers,[FN#122] since the man answers not. What is thine own
name?" said Cuchulain. "The woman to whom thou speakest," said the
man, "is Faebor-begbeoil-cuimdiuir-folt-scenbgairit-sceo-uath."[FN#123]
"Do ye make a fool of me?" cried Cuchulain, and on that Cuchulain
sprang into her chariot: he set his two feet on her two shoulders
thereupon, and his spear on the top of her head. "Play not sharp
weapons on me!" "Name thyself then by thy true name!" said Cuchulain.
"Depart then from me!" said she: "I am a female satirist in truth," she
said, "and he is Daire mac Fiachna from Cualnge: I have brought the cow
as fee for a master-poem." "Let me hear the poem then," said
Cuchulain. "Only remove thyself from me," said the woman; "it is
none[FN#124] the better for thee that thou shakest it over my head."
Thereon he left her until he was between the two poles (ferta) of her
chariot, and she sang to him[FN#125] . . . . . . Cuchulain threw a
spring at her chariot, and he saw not the horse, nor the woman, nor the
chariot, nor the man, nor the cow.
[FN#122] Y.B.L. corrupt; Egerton version adopted here.
[FN#123]
Little-mouthed-edge-equally-small-hair-short-splinter-much-clamour.
[FN#124] Not is it better for thee that" is in Egerton alone.
[FN#125] See the introduction for the omission of the poem.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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