We'll to our chairs for we have much to talk of, And we have Ullad and Muirthemne, and here Is Conall Muirthemne in the nick of time. (He goes to the back of stage to welcome a company of Kings who come in through the great door. The other Kings gradually get into their places. Cuchullain sits in his great chair with certain of the young men standing around him. Others of the young men, however, remain with Daire at the ale vat. Daire holds out the horn of ale to one or two of the older Kings as they pass him going to their places. They pass him by, most of them silently refusing.) DAIRE. Will you not drink? AN OLD KING. Not till the council's over. A YOUNG KING. But I'll drink, Daire. ANOTHER YOUNG KING. Fill me a horn too, Daire. ANOTHER YOUNG KING. If I'd drunk half that you have drunk to-day, I'd be upon all fours. DAIRE. That would be natural When Mother Earth had given you this good milk From her great breasts. CUCHULLAIN. (To one of the young Kings beside him) One is content awhile With a soft warm woman who folds up our lives In silky network. Then, one knows not why, But one's away after a flinty heart. THE YOUNG KING. How long can the net keep us? CUCHULLAIN. All our lives If there are children, and a dozen moons If there are none, because a growing child Has so much need of watching it can make A passion that's as changeable as the sea Change till it holds the wide earth to its heart. At least I have heard a father say it, but I Being childless do not know it. Come nearer yet; Though he is ringing that old silver rod We'll have our own talk out. They cannot hear us. (Concobar who is now seated in his great chair, opposite Cuchullain, beats upon the pillar of the house that is nearest to him with a rod of silver, till the Kings have become silent. Cuchullain alone continues to talk in a low voice to those about him, but not so loud as to disturb the silence. Concobar rises and speaks standing.) CONCOBAR. I have called you hither, Kings of Ullad, and Kings Of Muirthemne and Connall Muirthemne, And tributary Kings, for now there is peace-- It's time to build up Emain that was burned At the outsetting of these wars; for we, Being the foremost men, should have high chairs And be much stared at and wondered at, and speak Out of more laughing overflowing hearts Than common men. It is the art of kings To make what's noble nobler in men's eyes By wide uplifted roofs, where beaten gold, That's ruddy with desire, marries pale silver Among the shadowing beams; and many a time I would have called you hither to this work, But always, when I'd all but summoned you, Some war or some rebellion would break out. DAIRE.