Conan:  So I will drag Ireland from its moorings till I’ll bring it to the middling sea that has no ebb or flood!

Rock:  You will do well to put a change on the college that harboured you, and that left you so much of folly.

Conan:  I’ll do that!  I’ll be in College Green before the dawn is white—­no but before the night is grey!  It is to Dublin I will bring my spell, for I ever and always heard it said what Dublin will do to-day Ireland will do to-morrow! (Sings.)

  “Let Erin remember the days of old
  Ere her faithless sons betrayed her—­
  When Malachy wore the collar of gold
  Which he won from her proud invader—­
  When her kings with standards of green unfurl’d,
  Led the Red-Branch knights to danger;
  Ere the emerald gem of the western world
  Was set in the crown of a stranger.”

Rock:  And maybe you’ll tell us now by what means you will do all this?

Conan:  Go out of the house and I will tell you in the by and bye.

Rock:  That is what I was thinking.  You are talking nothing but lies.

Conan:  I tell you that power is not far from where you stand!  But I will let no one see it only myself.

Flannery:  There might be some truth in it.  There are some say enchantments never went out of Ireland.

Conan:  It is a spell, I say, that will change anything to its contrary.  To turn it upon a snail, there is hardly a greyhound but it would overtake; but a hare it would turn to be the slowest thing in the universe; too slow to go to a funeral.

Rock:  I’ll believe it when I’ll see it.

Conan:  You could see it if I let you look in this hiding-hole.

Rock:  Good-morrow to you!

Conan:  Then you will see it, for I’ll raise up the stone. (Kneels.)

Rock:  It to be anything it is likely a pot of sovereigns.

Flannery:  It might be the harp of Angus.

Rock:  I see no trace of it.

Conan:  There is something hard!  It should likely be a silver trumpet or a hunting-horn of gold!

Rock:  Give me a hold of it.

Conan:  Leave go! (Lifts out bellows.)

Rock:  Ha!  Ha!  Ha! after all your chat, nothing but a little old bellows!...

Conan:  There is seven rings on it....  They should signify the seven blasts....

Rock:  If there was seventy times seven what use would it be but to redden the coals?

Conan:  Every one of these blasts has power to make some change.

Rock:  Make one so, and I’ll plough the world for you.

Conan:  Is it that I would spend one of my seven blasts convincing the like of ye?

Rock:  It is likely the case there is no power in it at all.