No More Learning

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.