Now that you are a withered old block,
Still am I an eagle cock!
FINTAIN.
Listen to him now! That’s the sort of talk I have to put up with day out day in. (The fool is putting the feathers into his hair. Cuchullain takes a handful of feathers out of the heap and out of the fool’s hair and begins to wipe the blood from his sword with them.)
BARACH.
He has taken my feathers to wipe his sword. It is blood that he is wiping from his sword!
FINTAIN.
Whose blood? Whose blood?
CUCHULLAIN.
That young champion’s.