CUCHULAIN.
O pure, glittering ones
That should be more than wife or friend or mistress,
Give us the enduring will, the unquenchable hope,
The friendliness of the sword!—
[The song grows louder, and the last words ring out clearly. There is a loud knocking at the door, and a cry of ‘Open! open!’
CONCHUBAR.
Some king that has been loitering on the way.
Open the door, for I would have all know
That the oath’s finished and Cuchulain bound,