Deirdre monologue (Act 1) — Deirdre of the Sorrows

You must not go, Naisi, and leave me to the High King, a man is aging in his dun, with his crowds round him, and his silver and gold. (_More quickly._) I will not live to be shut up in Emain, and wouldn’t we do well paying, Naisi, with silence and a near death. (_She stands up and walks away from him._) I’m a long while in the woods with my own self, and I’m in little dread of death, and it earned with riches would make the sun red with envy, and he going up the heavens; and the moon pale and lonesome, and she wasting away. (_She comes to him and puts her hands on his shoulders._) Isn’t it a small thing is foretold about the ruin of ourselves, Naisi, when all men have age coming and great ruin in the end?