Give me the scarf of silken sheen,
give me the speckled satin woof,
Give from thy cloak's empurpled fold
the golden brooch so fair to see,
And when the glorious gift I hold,
for ever am I bound to thee.

MAVE.

Oh! art thou not my chosen chief,
my foremost champion, sure to win,
My tower, my fortress of relief,
to whom I give this twisted pin?
These, and a thousand gifts more rare,
the treasures of the earth and sea,
Jewels a queen herself might wear,
my grateful hands will give to thee.
And when at length beneath thy sword
the Hound of Ulster shall lie low,
When thou hast ope'd the long-locked Ford,
and let the unguarded water flow,
Then shall I give my daughter's hand,
then my own child shall be thy bride--
She, the fair daughter of the land
where western Elgga's[46] waters glide.

And thus did Mave Ferdiah bind to fight
Six chosen champions on the morrow morn,
Or combat with Cuchullin all alone,
Whichever might to him the easier seem.