My house and name to none that would not face
Even myself in battle.
conchubar. Being swift of foot,
And making light of every common chance,
You should have overtaken on the hills
Some daughter of the air, or on the shore
A daughter of the Country-under-Wave.
cuchulain. I am not blasphemous.
conchubar. Yet you despise
Our queens, and would not call a child your own,
If one of them had borne him.
cuchulain. I have not said it.
conchubar. Ah! I remember I have heard you boast,
When the ale was in your blood, that there was one
In Scotland, where you had learnt the trade of war,
That had a stone-pale cheek and red-brown hair;
And that although you had loved other women,
You’d sooner that fierce woman of the camp
Bore you a son than any queen among them.
cuchulain. You call her a ‘fierce woman of the camp,’
For having lived among the spinning-wheels,
You’d have no woman near that would not say,
