Deirdre of the Sorrows | Page 7

and a story
will be told for ever?
NAISI. It's a long while men have been talking of Deirdre, the child
who had all gifts, and the beauty that has no equal; there are many
know it, and there are kings would give a great price to be in my place
this night and you grown to a queen.
DEIRDRE. It isn't many I'd call, Naisi. . . . I was in the woods at the
full moon and I heard a voice singing. Then I gathered up my skirts,
and I ran on a little path I have to the verge of a rock, and I saw you
pass by underneath, in your crimson cloak, singing a song, and you
standing out beyond your brothers are called the Plower of Ireland.
NAISI. It's for that you called us in the dusk?
DEIRDRE -- in a low voice. -- Since that, Naisi, I have been one time
the like of a ewe looking for a lamb that had been taken away from her,
and one time seeing new gold on the stars, and a new face on the moon,
and all times dreading Emain.

NAISI -- pulling himself together and beginning to draw back a little.
-- Yet it should be a lonesome thing to be in this place and you born for
great company.
DEIRDRE -- softly. -- This night I have the best company in the whole
world.
NAISI -- still a little formally. -- It is I who have the best company, for
when you're queen in Emain you will have none to be your match or
fellow.
DEIRDRE. I will not be queen in Emain.
NAISI. Conchubor has made an oath you will, surely.
DEIRDRE. It's for that maybe I'm called Deirdre, the girl of many
sorrows . . . for it's a sweet life you and I could have, Naisi. . . . . It
should be a sweet thing to have what is best and richest, if it's for a
short space only.
NAISI -- very distressed. -- And we've a short space only to be
triumphant and brave.
DEIRDRE. You must not go, Naisi, and leave me to the High King, a
man is aging in his dun, with his crowds round him, and his silver and
gold. (More quickly.) I will not live to be shut up in Emain, and
wouldn't we do well paying, Naisi, with silence and a near death. (She
stands up and walks away from him.) I'm a long while in the woods
with my own self, and I'm in little dread of death, and it earned with
riches would make the sun red with envy, and he going up the heavens;
and the moon pale and lonesome, and she wasting away. (She comes to
him and puts her hands on his shoulders.) Isn't it a small thing is
foretold about the ruin of ourselves, Naisi, when all men have age
coming and great ruin in the end?
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?

DEIRDRE -- despondently. -- His messengers 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 the spring-time by the post of the
door? (A little shaken by what has passed.) Won't I be in great dread to
bring you to destruction, Naisi, and you so happy and young?
NAISI. Are you thinking I'd go on living after this night, Deirdre, and
you with Conchubor in Emain? Are you thinking I'd go out after hares
when I've had your lips in my sight?
[Lavarcham comes in as they cling to each other.
LAVARCHAM. Are you raving, Deirdre? Are you choosing this night
to destroy the world?
DEIRDRE -- very deliberately. -- It's Conchubor has chosen this night