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  <node>
    <title>Ferg067</title>
    <Collections>Deirdre</Collections>
    <Contributor>Linen Hall Library</Contributor>
    <Coverage>1880</Coverage>
    <Creator>Linen Hall Library</Creator>
    <Date>Thursday, February 4, 2016</Date>
    <Format>TIFF</Format>
    <Identifier>Ferg067</Identifier>
    <ItemDescription>Manuscript</ItemDescription>
    <Keywords>Levarcam, Despair, Death</Keywords>
    <Language>English</Language>
    <Path>https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/content/ferg067</Path>
    <Publisher>Linen Hall Library</Publisher>
    <Relation>Linen Hall Library</Relation>
    <Rights>Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike CC BY-NC-SA</Rights>
    <Scannedimage>https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/sites/default/files/Ferg067_0.jpg</Scannedimage>
    <Source>LHL Archive</Source>
    <Transcript>﻿NAISI.
Ardan and Ainle, to your tender care
I give my Deirdre. Fence her, right and left,
With cover of your bodies and your shields.
I take the front. Our cohort will make head
For the King&#039;s Stables. There at least we&#039;ll find
A shelter v/e may better hope to hold
Till Fergus&#039;s return ; or, happily,
Conveyance, and the chance of full escape. 

DEIRDRE.
Stay, Levarcam. They will not harm thee. Stay. 

LEVARCAM.
Alack, I&#039;m hurt, and stay against my will. 

NAISI.
Friends, keep together. Deirdre, thou shalt see
What love can do, if honour were unwise.
Cast wide the portal. Be the Gods our aid 1 

LEVARCAM.
I cannot see their onset. I but hear
The hurrying and the clashing. Oh, ye Gods.
Shield ye my darling one, or send her death
Rather than life with loathing and despair !
I saw her, ere she left, prepare a cup ;
What, and for what, I guess indeed too well.
Would I could give it her, were that to do :
&#039;Twere my last service, and would be my best.
How dreadful &#039;tis to hear men dealing death.
And not to know who falls and who keeps up.
The tumult slackens. We are saved or lost.
One side returns victorious. Deirdre comes :
But ah, her sidesmen are not those they were !
&#039;Tis Cormac leads her ; these are Conor&#039;s men
That bear the burthens in. Oh, heavy sight.
Ardan and Ainle and lord Naisi dead ! 

DEIRDRE.
Ye need not hold me. I am wholly calm.
Thanks, gentle Cormac, who hast won for me
The boon to see these nobles buried.
Give them an honorable sepulture ;
And, while ye dig their grave, let me begin
My lamentable death-song over them. 
</Transcript>
    <Type>Text</Type>
  </node>
</>
