Lavarcham monologue (Act 2) — Deirdre of the Sorrows

If it’s that ails you, I tell you there’s little hurt getting old, though young girls and poets do be storming at the shapes of age. (_Passionately._) There’s little hurt getting old, saving when you’re looking back, the way I’m looking this day, and seeing the young you have a love for breaking up their hearts with folly. (_Going to Deirdre._) Take my word and stop Naisi, and the day’ll come you’ll have more joy having the senses of an old woman and you with your little grandsons shrieking round you, than I’d have this night putting on the red mouth and the white arms you have, to go walking lonesome byways with a gamey king.