“Good, O Ferdiah, ’twas no knightly act,”
Cuchullin said, “to have come meanly here,
To combat and to fight with an old friend,
Through instigation of the wily Mave,
Through intermeddling of Ailill the king;
To none of those who here before thee came
Was victory given, for they all fell by me:—­
Thou too shalt win nor victory, nor increase
Of fame in this encounter thou dost dare,
For as they fell, so thou by me shall fall.” 
Thus was he saying and he spake these words,
To which Ferdiah listened, not unmoved.

Cuchullin.

Come not to me, O champion of the host,
  Come not to me, Ferdiah, as my foe,
For though it is thy fate to suffer most,
  All, all must feel the universal woe.

Come not to me defying what is right,
  Come not to me, thy life is in my power;
Ah, the dread issue of each former fight
  Why hast thou not remembered ere this hour?

Art thou not bright with diverse dainty arms,
  A purple girdle and a coat of mail? 
And yet to win the maid of peerless charms
  For whom thou dar’st the battle thou shalt fail.

Yes, Finavair, the daughter of the queen,
  The faultless form, the gold without alloy,
The glorious virgin of majestic mien,
  Shalt not be thine, Ferdiah, to enjoy.

No, the great prize shall not by thee be won,—­
  A fatal lure, a false, false light is she,
To numbers promised and yet given to none,
  And wounding many as she now wounds thee.

Break not thy vow, never with me to fight,
  Break not the bond that once thy young heart gave,
Break not the truth we both so loved to plight,
  Come not to me, O champion bold and brave!

To fifty champions by her smiles made slaves
  The maid was proffered, and not slight the gift;
By me they have been sent into their graves,
  From me they met destruction sure and swift.

Though vauntingly Ferbaeth my arms defied,
  He of a house of heroes prince and peer,
Short was the time until I tamed his pride
  With one swift cast of my true battle-spear.

Srub Daire’s valour too had swift decline: 
  Hundreds of women’s secrets he possessed,
Great at one time was his renown as thine,
  In cloth of gold, not silver, was he dressed.

Though ’twas to me the woman was betrothed
  On whom the chiefs of the fair province smile,
To shed thy blood my spirit would have loathed
  East, west, or north, or south of all the isle.

“Good, O Ferdiah,” still continuing, spoke
Cuchullin, “thus it is that thou shouldst not
Have come with me to combat and to fight;
For when we were with Scatha, long ago,
With Uatha and with Aife, we were wont
To go together to each battle-field,
To every combat and to every fight,
Through every forest, every wilderness,
Through every darksome path and dangerous way.” 
And thus he said and thus he spake these words: