NAISI. Yet it's a poor thing it's I should
bring you to a tale of blood and broken bodies,
and the filth of the grave. . . . Wouldn't we
do well to wait, Deirdre, and I each twilight
meeting you on the sides of the hills?


41

DEIRDRE -- despondently. -- His mes-
sengers are coming.
NAISI. Messengers are coming?
DEIRDRE. To-morrow morning or the
next, surely.
NAISI. Then we'll go away. It isn't I
will give your like to Conchubor, not if the
grave was dug to be my lodging when a week
was by. (He looks out.) The stars are out,
Deirdre, and let you come with me quickly,
for it is the stars will be our lamps many nights
and we abroad in Alban, and taking our
journeys among the little islands in the sea.
There has never been the like of the joy we'll
have, Deirdre, you and I, having our fill of
love at the evening and the morning till the
sun is high.
DEIRDRE. And yet I'm in dread leaving
this place, where I have lived always. Won't
I be lonesome and I thinking on the little hill
beyond, and the apple-trees do be budding in