ver may cry aloud in the night,
Or show itself in the air, be silent until morn.

A SERVANT

Cuchulain is in the right--I am tired of this big horn.

CUCHULAIN

Go!

[_The Servants turn toward the door but stop on hearing the voices
of Women outside_]

LAEGAIRE'S WIFE

[_Without_]

Mine is the better to look at.

CONALL'S WIFE

[_Without_]

But mine is better born.

EMER

[_Without_]

My man is the pithier man.

CUCHULAIN

Old hurricane, well done!
You've set our wives to the game that they may egg us on;
We are to kill each other that you may sport with us.
Ah, now, they've begun to wrestle as to who'll be first at the house.

[_The Women come to the door struggling_]

EMER

No, I have the right of place for I married the better man.

CONALL'S WIFE

[_Pulling Emer back_]

My nails in your neck and shoulder.

LAEGAIRE'S WIFE

And go before me if you can.
My husband fought in the West.

CONALL'S WIFE

[_Kneeling in the door so as to keep the others out who pull at
her_]

But what did he fight with there
But sidelong and spitting and helpless shadows of the dim air?
And what did he carry away but straw and broken delf?

LAEGAIRE'S WIFE

Your own man made up that tale trembling alone by himself,
Drowning his terror.

EMER

[_Forcing herself in front_]

I am Emer, it is I go first through the door.
No one shall walk before me, or praise any man before
My man has been praised.

CUCHULAIN

[_Spreading his arms across the door so as to close it_]

Come, put an end to their quarrelling:
One is as fair as the other, and each one the wife of a king.
Break down the painted boards between the sill and the floor
That they come in together, each one at her own door.

[_LAEGAIRE and CONALL begin to break out the bottoms of the windows,
then their wives go to the windows, each to the window where her
husband is. EMER stands at the door and sings while the boards are
being broken out_]

EMER

Nothing that he has done,
His mind that is fire,
His body that is sun,
Have set my head higher
Than all the world's wives.
Himself on the wind
Is the gift that he gives,
Therefore womenkind,
When their eyes have met mine,
Grow cold and grow hot,
Troubled as with wine
By a secret thought,
Preyed upon,