FIRST CRIPPLE. He has taken it, and there’ll be nothing left! SECOND CRIPPLE. Nothing at all; he wanted his own sort. What’s honey to a cat, corn to a dog, Or a green apple to a ghost in a churchyard? SEANCHAN. [_Pressing food back into BRIAN’S hands._] Eat it yourself, for you have come a journey, And it may be eat nothing on the way. BRIAN. How could I eat it, and your honour starving! It is your father sends it, and he cried Because the stiffness that is in his bones Prevented him from coming, and bid me tell you That he is old, that he has need of you, And that the people will be pointing at him, And he not able to lift up his head, If you should turn the King’s favour away; And he adds to it, that he cared you well, And you in your young age, and that it’s right That you should care him now. SEANCHAN. [_Who is now interested._] And is that all? What did my mother say? BRIAN. She gave no message; For when they told her you had it in mind to starve, Or get again the ancient right of the poets, She said: ‘No message can do any good. He will not send the answer that you want. We cannot change him.’ And she went indoors, Lay down upon the bed, and turned her face Out of the light. And thereupon your father Said: ‘Tell him that his mother sends no message, Albeit broken down and miserable.’ [_A pause._ Here’s a pigeon’s egg from Duras, and these others Were laid by your own hens. SEANCHAN. She has sent no message. Our mothers know us; they know us to the bone. They knew us before birth, and that is why They know us even better than the sweethearts Upon whose breasts we have lain. Go quickly! Go And tell them that my mother was in the right. There is no answer. Go and tell them that. Go tell them that she knew me. MAYOR. What is he saying? I never understood a poet’s talk More than the baa of a sheep! [_Comes over from seat. SEANCHAN turns away._ You have not heard, It may be, having been so much away, How many of the cattle died last winter From lacking grass, and that there was much sickness Because the poor have nothing but salt fish To live on through the winter? BRIAN. Get away, And leave the place to me! It’s my turn now, For your sack’s empty! MAYOR. Is it ‘get away’! Is that the way I’m to be spoken to! Am I not Mayor? Amn’t I authority? Amn’t I in the King’s place? Answer me that! BRIAN. Then show the people what a king is like: Pull down old merings and root custom up, Whitewash the dunghills, fatten hogs and geese, Hang your gold chain about an ass’s neck, And burn the blessed thorn trees out of the fields, And drive what’s comely away! MAYOR.