There’s not a mischief I’d begrudge the King If it were any other—— MAYOR. Hush! I am ready. BRIAN. That died to get it. I have brought out the food, And if my master will not eat of it, I’ll home and get provision for his wake, For that’s no great way off. Well, have your say, But don’t be long about it. MAYOR. [_Goes close to SEANCHAN._] Chief Poet of Ireland, I am the Mayor of your own town Kinvara, And I am come to tell you that the news Of this great trouble with the King of Gort Has plunged us in deep sorrow—part for you, Our honoured townsman, part for our good town. [_Begins to hesitate; scratching his head._ But what comes now? Something about the King. BRIAN. Get on! get on! The food is all set out. MAYOR. Don’t hurry me. FIRST CRIPPLE. Give us a taste of it. He’ll not begrudge it. SECOND CRIPPLE. Let them that have their limbs Starve if they will. We have to keep in mind The stomach God has left us. MAYOR. Hush! I have it! The King was said to be most friendly to us, And we have reason, as you’ll recollect, For thinking that he was about to give Those grazing lands inland we so much need, Being pinched between the water and the stones. Our mowers mow with knives between the stones; The sea washes the meadows. You know well We have asked nothing but what’s reasonable. SEANCHAN. Reason in plenty. Yellowy white hair, A hollow face, and not too many teeth. How comes it he has been so long in the world And not found Reason out? [_While saying this he has turned half round. He hardly looks at the MAYOR._ BRIAN. [_Trying to pull MAYOR away._] What good is there In telling him what he has heard all day! I will set food before him. MAYOR. [_Shoving BRIAN away._] Don’t hurry me! It’s small respect you’re showing to the town! Get farther off! [_To SEANCHAN._] We would not have you think, Weighty as these considerations are, That they have been as weighty in our minds As our desire that one we take much pride in, A man that’s been an honour to our town, Should live and prosper; therefore we beseech you To give way in a matter of no moment, A matter of mere sentiment—a trifle— That we may always keep our pride in you. [_He finishes this speech with a pompous air, motions to BRIAN to bring the food to SEANCHAN, and sits on seat._ BRIAN. Master, master, eat this! It’s not king’s food, That’s cooked for everybody and nobody. Here’s barley-bread out of your father’s oven, And dulse from Duras. Here is the dulse, your honour; It’s wholesome, and has the good taste of the sea. [_Takes dulse in one hand and bread in other and presses them into SEANCHAN’S hands. SEANCHAN shows by his movement his different feeling to BRIAN._