“No!” said the fox, “but that’s the way he was when he was making the thing for me, and I’ll go no nearer to him.”
“No!” says the lion, “but that’s the very way he had, when he was making the plough that I was caught in. I’ll go no nearer to him.”
They all went from him then and returned. The tailor and his wife came home to Galway. They gave me paper stockings and shoes of thick milk. I lost them since. They got the ford, and I the flash;[16] they were drowned, and I came safe.
BRAN.
Ḃí cú breáġ ag Fionn. Sin Bran. Ċualaiḋ tu caint air Ḃran. Seó an daṫ a ḃí air.
Cosa buiḋe a ḃí air Ḃran
Dá ṫaoiḃ duḃa agus tárr geal,
Druim uaine air ḋaṫ na seilge
Dá ċluais cruinne cóiṁ-ḋearga.