BUINO.
A something haughty that they find in me,
— Or, as I fancy, fancy that they find, —
Not unbeseeming in the eldest born
Of him who once wore crown of all we see,
Led some at first to call me by that name,
Which now, by oft repeating, clings to me.
DEIRDRE.
Conor's young Cormac and thyself, methinks,
Are of an age, and, haply, by and by.
For that same crown may be competitors.
BUINO.
Small were my fear, were there but I and he.
DEIRDRE.
Why hold him, pry thee, in that light esteem ?
BUINO.
Because, too nice, and over-scrupulous,
He weighs his actions in a tedious scale,
Nor strikes when favouring fortune gives the ball.
DEIRDRE.
And thou ? —
BUINO.
I've won already from his sire
Promise half-ratified of rents and lands
Will make me higher in estate than he.
'Twas not by letting fair occasion slip
I won that promise, let me promise thee.
DEIRDRE.
How called, the promised principality ?
BUINO.
Dalwhinny 'twill be, when the land is mine,
DEIRDRE.
But, ere the gift's complete, behoves thee snatch
Some fresh occasion to commend thyself ?
BUINO.
Which doubtless yet will come.
DEIRDRE.
Turn here thy eye?
And tell me, Buino, of thy courtesy,
What do they under yonder aged tree,
Itself a grove, a leafy temple-court ?
