_Concobar._ [_Seeing CUCHULLAIN._] You are before us, King. _Cuchullain._ So much the better, for I welcome you Into my Muirthemne. _Concobar._ But who are these? The odour from their garments when they stir Is like a wind out of an apple garden. _Cuchullain._ My swordsmen and harp players and fine dancers, My bosom friends. _Concobar._ I should have thought, Cuchullain, My graver company would better match Your greatness and your years; but I waste breath In harping on that tale. _Cuchullain._ You do, great King. Because their youth is the kind wandering wave That carries me about the world; and if it sank, My sword would lose its lightness. _Concobar._ Yet, Cuchullain, Emain should be the foremost town of the world. _Cuchullain._ It is the foremost town. _Concobar._ No, no, it’s not. Nothing but men can make towns great, and he, The one over-topping man that’s in the world, Keeps far away. _Daire._ He will not hear you, King, And we old men had best keep company With one another. I’ll fill the horn for you. _Concobar._ I will not drink, old fool. You have drunk a horn At every door we came to. _Daire._ You’d better drink, For old men light upon their youth again In the brown ale. When I have drunk enough, I am like Cuchullain as one pea another, And live like a bird’s flight from tree to tree. _Concobar._ 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?