Give me that helmet! I’d thought they had grown weary sending champions. That leathern coat will do. The High King there Being old in wisdom can think of times to come, But the hawk’s sleepy till its well-beloved Cries out amid the acorns, or it has seen Its enemy like a speck upon the sun. What’s Emain to the hawk when that clear eye Is burning nearer up in the high air? That buckle should be tighter. Give me your shield. There is good level ground at Baile’s Yew-tree, Some dozen yards from here, and it’s but truth That I am sad to-day and this fight welcome. [_He looks hard at the YOUNG MAN, and then steps down on the floor of the Assembly House. He grasps the YOUNG MAN by the shoulder._ Hither into the light. [_Turning to one of the YOUNG KINGS._ The very tint Of her that I was speaking of but now: Not a pin’s difference. [_To the YOUNG MAN._ You are from the North, Where there are many that have that tint of hair, Red-brown, the light red-brown. Come nearer, boy! For I would have another look at you. There’s more likeness, a pale, a stone pale cheek. What brought you, boy? Have you no fear of death? _Young Man._ Whether I live or die is in the Gods’ hands. _Cuchullain._ That is all words, all words, a young man’s talk; I am their plough, their harrow, their very strength, For he that’s in the sun begot this body Upon a mortal woman, and I have heard tell It seemed as if he had outrun the moon, That he must always follow through waste heaven, He loved so happily. He’ll be but slow To break a tree that was so sweetly planted. Let’s see that arm; I’ll see it if I like. That arm had a good father and a good mother, But it is not like this. _Young Man._ You are mocking me. You think I am not worthy to be fought, But I’ll not wrangle but with this talkative knife. _Cuchullain._ Put up your sword, I am not mocking you. I’d have you for my friend, but if it’s not Because you have a hot heart and a cold eye I cannot tell the reason. You’ve got her fierceness, And nobody is as fierce as those pale women. [_To the YOUNG KINGS._ We’ll keep him here in Muirthemne awhile. _A Young King._ You are the leader of our pack and therefore May cry what you will.