“Not for fear of battle hard,
Noble Eocho Fedlech’s maid,
Would I shun the Blacksmith’s Hound,
But my heart bleeds for his love!”

Medb:  “Thou shalt have, dear, bright-scaled[b] man,[c]
One swift, proud, high-mettled steed. 
Thou shalt have domains and land
And shalt stay not from the fight (?)!”

Ferdiad:  “But that Medb entreated so,
And that poets’ tongues did urge,
I’d not go for hard rewards
To contend with mine own friend!”

Medb:  “Son of Daman of white cheeks,
Shouldst thou check this heroes’ Hound,
E’er so long thy fame will live,
When thou comest from Ferdiad’s Ford!"[1]

[a] Translating from Stowe.

[1-1] Eg. 106 (Revue Celtique, t. x, page 339).  The metre is changed
designedly to agree with the original.

    [a] MS. ‘ye.’

    [b] Referring to Ferdiad’s horn-skin.

    [c] Literally, ‘calf.’

[2]Then said they, one and all, those gifts were great. [3]"’Tis true, they are great.[3] But though they are,” said [W.3113.] Ferdiad, “with Medb herself I will leave them, and I will not accept them if it be to do battle or combat with my foster-brother, the man of my alliance and affection, [1]and my equal in skill of arms,[1] namely, with Cuchulain.”  And he said:—­

    “Greatest toil, [2]this, greatest toil,[2]
    Battle with the Hound of gore! 
    Liefer would I battle twice
    With two hundred men of Fal!

    “Sad the fight, [2]and sad the fight,[2]
    I and Hound of feats shall wage! 
    We shall hack both flesh and blood;
    Skin and body we shall hew!

    “Sad, O god, [2]yea, sad, O god,[2]
    That a woman should us part! 
    My heart’s half, the blameless Hound;
    Half the brave Hound’s heart am I!

    “By my shield, [2]O, by my shield,[2]
    If Ath Cliath’s brave Hound should fall,
    I will drive my slender glaive
    Through my heart, my side, my breast!

    “By my sword, [2]O, by my sword,[2]
    If the Hound of Glen Bolg fall! 
    No man after him I’ll slay,
    Till I o’er the world’s brink spring!

    “By my hand, [2]O, by my hand![2]
    Falls the Hound of Glen in Sgail,
    Medb with all her host I’ll kill,
    And then no more men of Fal!

    “By my spear, [2]O, by my spear![2]
    Should Ath Cro’s brave Hound be slain,
    I’ll be buried in his grave;
    May one grave hide me and him!

[3]"Liefer would I, [2]liefer far,[2] Arms should slay me in fierce fight, Than the death of heroes’ Hound,"[a] Should be food for ravenous birds?[3]

    “Tell him this, [2]O, tell him this,[2]
    To the Hound of beauteous hue,
    Fearless Scathach hath foretold
    My fall on a ford through him!

[W.3149.] “Woe to Medb, [1]yea, woe to Medb,[1] Who hath used her [3]guile[3] on us; She hath set me face to face ’Gainst Cuchulain—­hard the toil!”

    [2-2] Stowe, Add. 18,748 and Eg. 209.