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,
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