rom that day there was no good luck with Bres, but it is going down
he was for ever after. And that was the first satire ever made in
Ireland.

Now as to Nuada: after his arm being struck off, he was in his sickness
for a while, and then Diancecht, the healer, made an arm of silver for
him, with movement in every finger of it, and put it on him. And from
that he was called Nuada Argat-lamh, of the Silver Hand, for ever after.

Now Miach, son of Diancecht, was a better hand at healing than his
father, and had done many things. He met a young man, having but one
eye, at Teamhair one time, and the young man said: "If you are a good
physician you will put an eye in the place of the eye I lost." "I could
put the eye of that cat in your lap in its place," said Miach. "I would
like that well," said the young man. So Miach put the cat's eye in his
head; but he would as soon have been without it after, for when he
wanted to sleep and take his rest, it is then the eye would start at the
squeaking of the mice, or the flight of the birds, or the movement of
the rushes; and when he was wanting to watch an army or a gathering, it
is then it was sure to be in a deep sleep.

And Miach was not satisfied with what his father had done to the king,
and he took Nuada's own hand that had been struck off, and brought it to
him and set it in its place, and he said: "Joint to joint, and sinew to
sinew." Three days and three nights he was with the king; the first day
he put the hand against his side, and the second day against his breast,
till it was covered with skin, and the third day he put bulrushes that
were blackened in the fire on it, and at the end of that time the king
was healed.

But Diancecht was vexed when he saw his son doing a better cure than
himself, and he threw his sword at his head, that it cut the flesh, but
the lad healed the wound by means of his skill. Then Diancecht threw it
a second time, that it reached the bone, but the lad was able to cure
the wound. Then he struck him the third time and the fourth, till he cut
out the brain, for he knew no physician could cure him after that blow;
and Miach died, and he buried him.

And herbs grew up from his grave, to the number of his joints and
sinews, three hundred and sixty-five. And Airmed, his sister, came and
spread out her cloak and laid out the herbs in it, according to their
virtue. But Diancecht saw her doing that, and he came and mixed up the
herbs, so that no one