_The Hour-Glass_ originally appeared in _The North American Review_, September, 1903. A few copies only of this edition were printed, for purposes of copyright. 1904. The Hour-Glass, Cathleen | ni Hoolihan, The Pot of | Broth: Being Volume Two of | Plays for an Irish Theatre: | By W. B. Yeats | London: A. H. Bullen, 47, Great | Russell Street, W.C. 1904. Cr. 8vo, pp. viii and 84. Paper boards with cloth back. CONTENTS. _The Hour-Glass: A Morality._ For original appearance see above, under date 1903. _Cathleen ni Hoolihan._ For original appearance see above, under date 1902. _The Pot of Broth._ _Note on the Music._ The King’s Threshold: and | On Baile’s Strand: Being | Volume Three of Plays | for an Irish Theatre: By | W. B. Yeats | London: A. H. Bullen, 47, Great | Russell Street, W.C. 1904. Cr. 8vo, pp. viii and 120. Paper boards with cloth back. CONTENTS. _Note._ _A Prologue._ Originally appeared in _The United Irishman_, September 9, 1903. [The Prologue, which was accidentally dropped from later editions, ran thus:— A PROLOGUE.[H] _An _Old Man_ with a red dressing-gown, red slippers and red night-cap, holding a brass candlestick with a guttering candle in it, comes on from side of stage and goes in front of the dull green curtain._ _Old Man._ I’ve got to speak the prologue. [_He shuffles on a few steps._] My nephew, who is one of the play actors, came to me, and I in my bed, and my prayers said, and the candle put out, and he told me there were so many characters in this new play, that all the company were in it, whether they had been long or short at the business, and that there wasn’t one left to speak the prologue. Wait a bit, there’s a draught here. [_He pulls the curtain closer together._] That’s better. And that’s why I am here, and maybe I’m a fool for my pains. And my nephew said, there are a good many plays to be played for you, some to-night and some on other nights through the winter, and the most of them are simple enough, and tell out their story to the end. But as to the big play you are to see to-night, my nephew taught me to say what the poet had taught him to say about it. [_Puts down candlestick and puts right finger on left thumb._] First, he who told the story of Seanchan on King Guaire’s threshold long ago in the old books told it wrongly, for he was a friend of the king, or maybe afraid of the king, and so he put the king in the right. But he that tells the story now, being a poet, has put the poet in the right.