Owen monologue (Act 2) — Deirdre of the Sorrows

— _with a burst of rage._ — It’s Naisi, Naisi, is it? Then, I tell you, you’ll have great sport one day seeing Naisi getting a harshness in his two sheep’s eyes and he looking on yourself. Would you credit it, my father used to be in the broom and heather kissing Lavarcham, with a little bird chirping out above their heads, and now she’d scare a raven from a carcase on a hill. (_With a sad cry that brings dignity into his voice._) Queens get old, Deirdre, with their white and long arms going from them, and their backs hooping. I tell you it’s a poor thing to see a queen’s nose reaching down to scrape her chin.