Deirdre of the Sorrows

by J. M. Synge

NAISI.
— sitting down. — You are Fedlimid’s daughter that Conchubor has walled up from all the men of Ulster.

DEIRDRE.
Do many know what is foretold, that Deirdre will be the ruin of the Sons of Usna, and have a little grave by herself, 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.