King Conchubar is right. My husband’s dead. A single woman is of no account, Lacking array of servants, linen cupboards, The bacon hanging—and King Conchubar’s house All ready, too—I’ll to King Conchubar’s house. It is but wisdom to do willingly What has to be. CONCHUBAR. But why are you so calm? I thought that you would curse me and cry out, And fall upon the ground and tear your hair. DEIRDRE [_laughing_]. You know too much of women to think so; Though, if I were less worthy of desire, I would pretend as much; but, being myself, It is enough that you were master here. Although we are so delicately made, There’s something brutal in us, and we are won By those who can shed blood. It was some woman That taught you how to woo: but do not touch me, For I’ll go with you and do all your will When I have done whatever’s customary. We lay the dead out, folding up the hands, Closing the eyes, and stretching out the feet, And push a pillow underneath the head, Till all’s in order; and all this I’ll do For Naisi, son of Usna. CONCHUBAR. It is not fitting. You are not now a wanderer, but a queen, And there are plenty that can do these things. DEIRDRE. [_Motioning CONCHUBAR away._] No, no. Not yet. I cannot be your queen Till the past’s finished, and its debts are paid. When a man dies and there are debts unpaid, He wanders by the debtor’s bed and cries, There’s so much owing. CONCHUBAR. You are deceiving me. You long to look upon his face again. Why should I give you now to a dead man That took you from a living? [_He makes a step towards her._ DEIRDRE. In good time. You’ll stir me to more passion than he could, And yet, if you are wise, you’ll grant me this: That I go look upon him that was once So strong and comely and held his head so high That women envied me. For I will see him All blood-bedabbled and his beauty gone. It’s better, when you’re beside me in your strength, That the mind’s eye should call up the soiled body, And not the shape I loved. Look at him, women. He heard me pleading to be given up, Although my lover was still living, and yet He doubts my purpose. I will have you tell him How changeable all women are. How soon Even the best of lovers is forgot, When his day’s finished. CONCHUBAR. No; but I will trust The strength you have spoken of, and not your purpose. DEIRDRE [_almost with a caress_].