Cuchulain
The cups are dry as a bone.
[He sits on chair and drinks]
Conall
Go into Scotland again, or where you will, but begone
From this unlucky country that was made when the devil spat.
Cuchulain
If I lived here a hundred years, could a worse thing come than that
Laegaire and Conall should know me and bid me begone to my face?