DEIRDRE. — _very defiant._ — I would not, Conchubor. (_She goes to tapestry and begins to work._) A girl born the way I’m born is more likely to wish for a mate who’d be her likeness. . . . A man with his hair like the raven, maybe, and his skin like the snow and his lips like blood spilt on it. CONCHUBOR. — _sees his mistake, and after a moment takes a flattering tone, looking at her work._ — Whatever you wish, there’s no queen but would be well pleased to have your skill at choosing colours and making pictures on the cloth. (_Looking closely._) What is it you’re figuring? DEIRDRE. — _deliberately._ — Three young men and they chasing in the green gap of a wood. CONCHUBOR. — _now almost pleading._ — It’s soon you’ll have dogs with silver chains to be chasing in the woods of Emain, for I have white hounds rearing up for you, and grey horses, that I’ve chosen from the finest in Ulster and Britain and Gaul. DEIRDRE. — _unmoved as before._ — I’ve heard tell, in Ulster and Britain and Gaul, Naisi and his brothers have no match and they chasing in the woods. CONCHUBOR. — _very gravely._ — Isn’t it a strange thing you’d be talking of Naisi and his brothers, or figuring them either, when you know the things that are foretold about themselves and you? Yet you’ve little knowledge, and I’d do wrong taking it bad when it’ll be my share from this out to keep you the way you’ll have little call to trouble for knowledge, or its want either. DEIRDRE. Yourself should be wise, surely. CONCHUBOR. The like of me has a store of knowledge that’s a weight and terror. It’s for that we do choose out the like of yourself that are young and glad only. . . . I’m thinking you are gay and lively each day in the year? DEIRDRE. I don’t know if that’s true, Conchubor. There are lonesome days and bad nights in this place like another. CONCHUBOR. You should have as few sad days, I’m thinking, as I have glad and good ones. DEIRDRE. What is it has you that way ever coming this place, when you’d hear the old woman saying a good child’s as happy as a king? CONCHUBOR. How would I be happy seeing age coming on me each year, when the dry leaves are blowing back and forward at the gate of Emain? And yet this last while I’m saying out, when I see the furze breaking and the daws sitting two and two on ash-trees by the duns of Emain, Deirdre’s a year nearer her full age when she’ll be my mate and comrade and then I’m glad surely. DEIRDRE. — _almost to herself._ — I will not be your mate in Emain. CONCHUBOR. — _not heeding her._ — It’s there you’ll be proud and happy and you’ll learn that, if young men are great hunters, yet it’s with the like of myself you’ll find a knowledge of what is priceless in your own like. What we all need is a place is safe and splendid, and it’s that you’ll get in Emain in two days or three. DEIRDRE. — _aghast._ — Two days!