Queen: It is a poor daughter that will not
wish to be helpful to her father.
Princess: If I am to wed for the furnishing
of my father's table, it's as good for you to wrap
me in a speckled fawnskin and roast me!
(Runs out, tossing her ball.)
Queen: She is no way fit for marriage unless
with a herd to the birds of the air, till she has a
couple of years schooling.
King: It would be hard to put her back to
that.
Queen: I must take it in hand. She is getting
entirely too much of her own way.
Nurse: Leave her alone, and in the end it will
be a good way.
Queen: To keep rules and hours she must learn,
and to give in to order and good sense. (To King.)
There is a pigeon messenger I brought from Alban
I am about to let loose on this day with news of
myself and of yourself. I will send with it a message
to a friend I have, bidding her to make ready for
Nuala a place in her garden of learning and her
school.
King: That is going too fast. There is no
hurry.
Queen: She is seventeen years. There is no
day to be lost. I will go write the letter.