Thou shalt have all; do thou decide. 
  I’ll give thee an unbounded claim;
Until thy doubts are satisfied,
  oh! bind us by each sacred name;—­
Bind us upon the hands of kings,
  upon the hands of princes bind;
Bind us by every act that brings
  assurance to the doubting mind. 
Ask what thou wilt, and do not fear
  that what thou wouldst cannot be wrought;
Ask what thou wilt, there standeth here
  one who will ne’er refuse thee aught;
Ask what thou wilt, thy wildest wish
  be certain thou shalt have this night,
For well I know that thou wilt kill this
  man who meets thee in the fight.

Ferdiah.

I will have six securities,
  no less will I accept from thee;
Be some our country’s deities,
  the lords of earth, and sky, and sea;
Be some thy dearest ones, O queen!
  the darlings of thy heart and eye,
Before my fatal fall is seen
  to-morrow, when the hosts draw nigh. 
Do this, and though I lose my fame—­
  do this, and though my life I lose,
The glorious championship I’ll claim,
  the glorious risk will not refuse. 
On, on, in equal strength and might
  shall I advance, O queenly Mave,
And Uladh’s hero meet in fight,
  and battle with Cuchullin brave.

Mave.

Though Domnal[42] it should be, the sun,
  swift-speeding in his fiery car;
Though Niaman’s[43] dread name be one,
  the consort of the God of War;
These, even these I’ll give, though hard
  to lure them from their realms serene,
For though they list to lowliest bard,[44]
  they may be deaf unto a queen. 
Bind it on Morand, if thou wilt,
  to make assurance doubly sure;
Bind it, nor dream that dream of guilt
  that such a pact will not endure. 
By spirits of the wave and wind,
  by every spell, by every art,
Bind Carpri Min of Manand,
  bind my sons, the darlings of my heart.

Ferdiah.

O Mave! with venom of deceit
  that adder tongue of thine o’erflows,
Nor is thy temper over-sweet,
  as well thine earlier consort knows. 
Thou’rt truly worthy of thy fame
  for boastful speech and lust of power,
And well dost thou deserve thy name—­
  the Brachail of Rathcroghan’s tower.[45]
Thy words are fair and soft, O queen!
  but still I crave one further proof—­
Give me the scarf of silken sheen,
  give me the speckled satin woof,
Give from thy cloak’s empurpled fold
  the golden brooch so fair to see,
And when the glorious gift I hold,
  for ever am I bound to thee.

Mave.

Oh! art thou not my chosen chief,
  my foremost champion, sure to win,
My tower, my fortress of relief,
  to whom I give this twisted pin? 
These, and a thousand gifts more rare,
  the treasures of the earth and sea,
Jewels a queen herself might wear,
  my grateful hands will give to thee.