From the one weighty matter. That very woman—
For I know well that you are praising Aoife—
Now hates you and will leave no subtilty
Unknotted that might run into a noose
About your throat, no army in idleness
That might bring ruin on this land you serve.
CUCHULAIN.
No wonder in that, no wonder at all in that.
I never have known love but as a kiss
In the mid-battle, and a difficult truce