[1-1] From Stowe; LL. is illegible here.

    [2-2] H. 1. 13.

    [3-3] Stowe.

The servant came and touched his master with his hand [4]and awakened him.[4] “Ferdiad, master,” said the youth, “rise up!  They are here to meet thee at the ford.” [5]Then[5] [6]Ferdiad arose and girt his body in his war-dress of battle and combat.[6] And the gilla spake these words:—­

    “The roll of a chariot,
    Its fair yoke of silver;
    A man great and stalwart
      O’ertops the strong car! 
    O’er Bri Ross, o’er Brane
    Their swift path they hasten;
    Past Old-tree Town’s[a] tree-stump,
      Victorious they speed!

    “A sly Hound that driveth,
    A fair chief that urgeth,
    A free hawk that speedeth
      His steeds towards the south! 
    Gore-coloured, the Cua,[b]
    ’Tis sure he will take us;
    We know—­vain to hide it—­
      He brings us defeat![c]

    [W.3335.] “Woe him on the hillock,
    The brave Hound before him;
    Last year I foretold it,
      That some time he’d come! 
    Hound from Emain Macha,
    Hound formed of all colours,
    The Border-hound, War-hound,
      I hear what I’ve heard!”

    [4-4] YBL. 38a, 35.

    [5-5] H. 1. 13.

    [6-6] Stowe and, similarly, Eg. 209, Eg. 106 and H. 1. 13.

    [a] Baile in bile, MSS.

    [b] A shortened form for ‘Cuchulain.’

    [c] Literally, ‘battle, strife.’

“Come, gilla,” said Ferdiad; “for what reason laudest thou this man ever since I am come from my house?  And it is almost a cause for strife with thee that thou hast praised him thus highly.  But, Ailill and Medb have prophesied to me that this man will fall by my hand.  And since it is for a reward, he shall quickly be torn asunder by me. [1]And make ready the arms on the ford against his coming.”  “Should I turn my face backward,” said the gilla; “methinks the poles of yon chariot will pass through the back of my neck.”  “Too much, my lad,” said Ferdiad, “dost thou praise Cuchulain, for not a reward has he given thee for praising,[1] but it is time to fetch help.”  And he spake these words, and the henchman responded:—­

Ferdiad:  “’Tis time now to help me;
Be silent! cease praising! 
’Twas no deed of friendship,
No doom o’er the brink (?)[a]
The Champion of Cualnge,
Thou seest ’midst proud feats,
For that it’s for guerdon,
Shall quickly be slain!"[b]

The Henchman:  “I see Cualnge’s hero,
With feats overweening,
Not fleeing he flees us,
But towards us he comes. 
He runneth—­not slowly—­
Though cunning—­not sparing—­
Like water ’down high cliff
Or thunderbolt quick!”

Ferdiad:  [W.3365.] “’Tis cause of a quarrel,
So much thou hast praised him;
And why hast thou chose him,
Since I am from home? 
And now they extol him,
They fall to proclaim him;
None come to attack him,
But soft simple men (?).”