ould not wish him any ill,
But were he swept to some far hill
It's then I'd laugh and laugh my fill,
Coo, Coo, my birdeen ban astore.

"I wish I was a linnet free
To rock and rustle on the tree
With none to haste or hustle me,
Coo, Coo, my birdeen ban astore!"

_Mother_: Did you make ready now what will
please him for his breakfast?

_Celia_: (_Laughing_.) I'm doing every whole
thing, but you know well to please him is not
possible.

_Mother_: It is going astray on me what sort of
egg best suits him, a pullet's egg or the egg of a
duck.

_Celia_: I'd go search out if it would satisfy him
the egg of an eagle having eyes as big as the moon,
and feathers of pure gold.

_Mother_: Look out again would you see him.

_Celia_: (_Sitting up reluctantly_.) I wonder will
the rosy ribbon or the pale put the best appearance
on my party dress to-night? (_Looks out_.) He is
coming down the path from the rath, and he having
his little old book in his hand, that he gives out
fell down before him from the skies.

_Mother_: So there is a little book, whatever
language he does be wording out of it.

_Celia_: If you listen you'll hear it now, or hear
his own talk, for he's mouthing and muttering as
he travels the path.

_Conan_: (_Comes in: the book in his hand open,
he is not looking at it_.) "Life is the flame of the
heart ...that heat is of the nature of the stars." ...It
is Aristotle had knowledge to turn that
flame here and there.... What way now did he
do that?

_Mother_: Ah, I'm well pleased to see you coming
in, Conan. I was getting uneasy thinking you
were gone astray on us.

_Conan_: (_Dropping his book and picking it up
again_.) I never knew the like of you, Maryanne,
under the canopy of heaven. To be questioning
me with your talk, and I striving to keep my mind
upon all the wisdom of the ancient world. (_Sits
down beside fire_.)

_Mother_: So you would be too. It is well able
you are to do that.

_Conan_: (_To Celia_.) Have you e'er a meal to
leave down to me?

_Celia_: It will be ready within three minutes of
time.

_Conan_: Wasting the morning on me! What
good are you if you cannot so much as boil the
breakfast? Hurry on now.

_Celia_: Ah, hurry didn't save the hare. (_Sings
ironically as she prepares breakfast_.) (_Air, "Mo
Bhuachailin Buidhe_.")

"Come in the evening or come in the morning,
Come when you're looked for or come without warning;
Kisses and welcome you