_Cuchullain._ You’ll stop with us And we will hunt the deer and the wild bulls, And, when we have grown weary, light our fires In sandy places where the wool-white foam Is murmuring and breaking, and it may be That long-haired women will come out of the dunes To dance in the yellow fire-light. You hang your head, Young man, as if it was not a good life; And yet what’s better than to hurl the spear, And hear the long-remembering harp, and dance? Friendship grows quicker in the murmuring dark; But I can see there’s no more need for words And that you’ll be my friend now. _First Old King._ Concobar, Forbid their friendship, for it will get twisted To a reproach against us. _Concobar._ Until now I’d never need to cry Cuchullain on And would not now. _First Old King._ They’ll say his manhood’s quenched. _Cuchullain._ I’ll give you gifts, but I’ll have something too, An arm-ring or the like, and if you will We’ll fight it out when you are older, boy. _An Old King._ Aoife will make some story out of this. _Cuchullain._ Well, well, what matter, I’ll have that arm-ring, boy. _Young Man._ There is no man I’d sooner have my friend Than you whose name has gone about the world As if it had been the wind, but Aoife’d say I had turned coward. _Cuchullain._ I’ll give you gifts That Aoife’ll know and all her people know To have been my gifts. Mananan, son of the sea, Gave me this heavy embroidered cloak. Nine Queens Of the Land-under-Wave had woven it Out of the fleeces of the sea. O! tell her I was afraid, or tell her what you will. No! tell her that I heard a raven croak On the north side of the house and was afraid. _An Old King._ Some witch of the air has troubled Cuchullain’s mind. _Cuchullain._ No witchcraft, his head is like a woman’s head I had a fancy for. _Second Old King._ A witch of the air Can make a leaf confound us with memories. They have gone to school to learn the trick of it. _Cuchullain._ But there’s no trick in this. That arm-ring, boy. _Third Old King._ He shall not go unfought, I’ll fight with him. _Fourth Old King._ No! I will fight with him. _First Old King._ I claim the fight, For when we sent an army to her land---- _Second Old King._ I claim the fight, for one of Aoife’s galleys Stole my great cauldron and a herd of pigs. _Third Old King._ No, no, I claim it, for at Lammas’ time---- _Cuchullain._ Back! Back! Put up your swords! Put up your swords! There’s none alive that shall accept a challenge I have refused. Laegaire, put up your sword. _Young Man._ No, let them come, let any three together. If they’ve a mind to, I’ll try it out with four. _Cuchullain._ That’s spoken as I’d spoken it at your age, But you are in my house. Whatever man Would fight with you shall fight it out with me. They’re dumb. They’re dumb. How many of you would meet