MAYOR
I am getting ready.
FIRST CRIPPLE
A poet has power from beyond the world,
That he may set our thoughts upon old times,
And lucky queens and little holy fish
That rise up every seventh year —
MAYOR
Hush! hush!
FIRST CRIPPLE
To cure the crippled.
MAYOR
I am half ready now.
BRIAN
There’s not a mischief I’d begrudge the King
If it were any other —
MAYOR
Hush! I am ready.
BRIAN
That died to get it. I have brought out the food,
And if my master will not eat of it,
I’ll home and get provision for his wake,
For that’s no great way off. Well, have your say,
But don’t be long about it.
MAYOR
[Goes close to SEANCHAN.]
Chief Poet of Ireland,
I am the Mayor of your own town Kinvara,
And I am come to tell you that the news
Of this great trouble with the King of Gort
Has plunged us in deep sorrow – part for you,
Our honoured townsman, part for our good town.
[Begins to hesitate; scratching his head.
But what comes now? Something about the King.
BRIAN
Get on! get on! The food is all set out.
MAYOR
Don’t hurry me.
FIRST CRIPPLE
Give us a taste of it.
He’ll not begrudge it.
SECOND CRIPPLE
Let them that have their limbs
Starve if they will. We have to keep in mind
The stomach God has left us.
MAYOR
Hush! I have it!
The King was said to be most friendly to us,
And we have reason, as you’ll recollect,
For thinking that he was about to give
Those grazing lands inland we so much need,
Being pinched between the water and the stones.
Our mowers mow with knives between the stones;
The sea washes the meadows. You know well
We have asked nothing but what’s reasonable.
SEANCHAN
Reason in plenty. Yellowy white hair,
A hollow face, and not too many teeth.
How comes it he has been so long in the world
And not found Reason out?
[While saying this he has turned half round. He hardly looks at the MAYOR
BRIAN
[Trying to pull MAYOR away.]
What good is there