And tributary Kings, for now there is peace—
It’s time to build up Emain that was burned
At the outsetting of these wars; for we,
Being the foremost men, should have high chairs
And be much stared at and wondered at, and speak
Out of more laughing overflowing hearts
Than common men. It is the art of kings
To make what’s noble nobler in men’s eyes
By wide uplifted roofs, where beaten gold,
That’s ruddy with desire, marries pale silver