Moreover to Emer he said: 

I avoid thee, O lady, as heroes
Avoid to meet friends in a strife;
The hard spear thy hand shakes cannot injure,
Nor the blade of thy thin gleaming knife;
For the wrath pent within thee that rageth
Is but weak, nor can cause mine affright: 
It were hard if the war my might wageth
Must be quenched by a weak woman’s might!

“Speak! and tell me, Cuchulain,” cried Emer,
“Why this shame on my head thou wouldst lay? 
Before women of Ulster dishonoured I stand,
And all women who dwell in the wide Irish land,
And all folk who love honour beside: 
Though I came on thee, secretly creeping,
Though oppressed by thy might I remain,
And though great is thy pride in the battle,
If thou leavest me, naught is thy gain: 
Why, dear youth, such attempt dost thou make?

“Speak thou, Emer, and say,” said Cuchulain,
“Should I not with this lady delay? 
For this lady is fair, pare and bright, and well skilled,
A fit mate for a monarch, in beauty fulfilled,
And the billows of ocean can ride: 
She is lovely in countenance, lofty in race,
And with handicraft skilled can fine needlework trace,
Hath a mind that with firmness can guide: 

And in steeds hath she wealth, and much cattle
Doth she own; there is naught under sky
A dear wife for a spouse should be keeping
But that gift with this lady have I: 
Though the vow that I made thee I break,
Thou shalt ne’er find champion
Rich, like me, in scars;
Ne’er such worth, such brilliance,
None who wins my wars.”

“In good sooth,” answered Emer, “the lady to whom thou dost cling is in no way better than am I myself!  Yet fair seems all that’s red; seems white what’s new alone; and bright what’s set o’erhead; and sour are things well known!  Men worship what they lack; and what they have seems weak; in truth thou hast all the wisdom of the time!  O youth!” she said, “once we dwelled in honour together, and we would so dwell again, if only I could find favour in thy sight!” and her grief weighed heavily upon her.  “By my word,” said Cuchulain, “thou dost find favour, and thou shalt find it so long as I am in life.”

“Desert me, then!” cried Fand.  “Nay,” said Emer, “it is more fitting that I should be the deserted one.”  “Not so, indeed,” said Fand.  “It is I who must go, and danger rusheth upon me from afar.”  And an eagerness for lamentation seized upon Fand, and her soul was great within her, for it was shame to her to be deserted and straightway to return to her home; moreover the mighty love that she bare to Cuchulain was tumultuous in her, and in this fashion she lamented, and lamenting sang this song: 

Mighty need compels me,
I must go my way;
Fame for others waiteth,
Would I here could stay!

Sweeter were it resting
Guarded by thy power,
Than to find the marvels
In Aed Abra’s bower.