_Mayor._ I knew he would not care For country things now that he’s grown accustomed To the King’s dishes. I told Brian too He’d have his pains for nothing. But he’s old. [_Goes over to table at right. While he is speaking CIAN and BRIAN are in vain offering SEANCHAN food._ And what dishes! Venison from Slieve Echtge Fattened with poor men’s crops; flesh of wild pig; Not fat nor lean, but streaky and right well cured; Bread that’s the whitest that I’ve ever seen. _Cian._ You’re in the right, you’re in the right, he will not eat. [_Pouring wine into cup._ _Mayor._ Bring him some wine, it will give him strength to eat. [_BRIAN brings wine over towards SEANCHAN._ No wonder if the King is proud and merry, And keeps all day in the saddle, when even I Am well-nigh drunken with the odour of it, And if I dared--I dare not. _Cian._ Drink it, sir. _Brian._ Drink a few drops. _Seanchan._ Drink it yourself, old man, For you have come a journey, and I daresay You did not eat or drink upon the road. _Cian._ How can I drink it when your honour’s thirsty? [_He offers cup again. The KING’S HOUSEHOLD comes in. CHAMBERLAIN with long staff, a SOLDIER, a MONK, two LADIES, followed by CRIPPLES who beg from the ladies, who keep close together at right, talking to each other at intervals. SOLDIER goes over to MAYOR, and talks to him._ _Chamberlain._ Well, have you it in imagination still To overthrow the dignity of the King, Or is the game finished? [_A pause._ How many days Will you keep up this quarrel with the King, With the King’s nobles and myself and all Who’d gladly be your friends if you would let them? _Soldier._ [_Who has been speaking to MAYOR and SERVANTS._] Was it you that sent his servants and the Mayor Of his own town to wheedle him into life? _Chamberlain._ It was the King himself. _Soldier._ Was it worth our while To have got rid of him from the King’s table If he is to be humoured and made much of? _Chamberlain._ It seems that he has not eaten yet, although He’s had another dozen hours of hunger. _Soldier._ If he’s so proud and obstinate a neck I’d let him starve. _Monk._ Persuade him to eat, my lord. His death would make a scandal, and stir up The common people. _Chamberlain._ And I have a fancy That if it brought misfortune on the King, Or the King’s house, we’d be as little thought of As summer linen when the winter’s come. _Aileen._ [_To CIAN._] You’ve had no luck, old man. _Cian._ We have not, lady. _Aileen._ Maybe he’s out of humour with your ways, Having grown used to sprightlier service.