Demand him of you.
CONCHUBAR.
You have come too late.
I have accomplished all. Deirdre is mine;
She is my queen, and no man now can rob me.
I had to climb the topmost bough and pull
This apple among the winds. Open the curtain,
That Fergus learn my triumph from her lips.
[The curtain is drawn back. The MUSICIANS begin to keen with low voices.
No, no; I’ll not believe it. She is not dead—