Deirdre's seen your dread and she'll have no
peace from this out in the woods.
NAISI -- with confidence. -- She's not seen
it. . . . Deirdre's no thought of getting old
or wearied; it's that puts wonder in her days,
and she with spirits would keep bravery and
laughter in a town with plague.
[Deirdre drops the horn of wine and
crouches down where she is.
FERGUS. That humour'll leave her. But
we've no call going too far, with one word
borrowing another. Will you come this night
to Emain Macha?
NAISI. I'll not go, Fergus. I've had
dreams of getting old and weary, and losing
my delight in Deirdre; but my dreams were
dreams only. What are Conchubor's seals
and all your talk of Emain and the fools of
Meath beside one evening in Glen Masain?
We'll stay this place till our lives and time are


57

worn out. It's that word you may take in
your curagh to Conchubor in Emain.
FERGUS -- gathering up his parchments.
-- And you won't go, surely.
NAISI. I will not. . . . I've had dread,
I tell you, dread winter and summer, and the