_Cuchullain._ All our lives If there are children, and a dozen moons If there are none, because a growing child Has so much need of watching it can make A passion that’s as changeable as the sea Change till it holds the wide earth to its heart. At least I have heard a father say it, but I Being childless do not know it. Come nearer yet; Though he is ringing that old silver rod We’ll have our own talk out. They cannot hear us. [_CONCOBAR who is now seated in his great chair, opposite CUCHULLAIN, beats upon the pillar of the house that is nearest to him with a rod of silver, till the KINGS have become silent. CUCHULLAIN alone continues to talk in a low voice to those about him, but not so loud as to disturb the silence. CONCOBAR rises and speaks standing._ _Concobar._ I have called you hither, Kings of Ullad, and Kings Of Muirthemne and Connall Muirthemne, And tributary Kings, for now there is peace-- It’s time to build up Emain that was burned At the outsetting of these wars; for we, Being the foremost men, should have high chairs And be much stared at and wondered at, and speak Out of more laughing overflowing hearts Than common men. It is the art of kings To make what’s noble nobler in men’s eyes By wide uplifted roofs, where beaten gold, That’s ruddy with desire, marries pale silver Among the shadowing beams; and many a time I would have called you hither to this work, But always, when I’d all but summoned you, Some war or some rebellion would break out. _Daire._ Where’s Maine Morgor and old Usnach’s children, And that high-headed even-walking Queen, And many near as great that got their death Because you hated peace? I can remember The people crying out when Deirdre passed And Maine Morgor had a cold gray eye. Well, well, I’ll throw this heel-tap on the ground, For it may be they are thirsty. _A King._ Be silent, fool. _Another King._ Be silent, Daire. _Concobar._ Let him speak his mind. I have no need to be afraid of ghosts, For I have made but necessary wars. I warred to strengthen Emain, or because When wars are out they marry and beget And have their generations like mankind And there’s no help for it; but I’m well content That they have ended and left the town so great, That its mere name shall be in times to come Like a great ale vat where the men of the world Shall drink no common ale but the hard will, The unquenchable hope, the friendliness of the sword. [_He takes thin boards on which plans have been carved by those about him._