drowned!" "What, then?" cried they. Then Eisirt, beginning with the
King, set out to tell every hidden sin that each man or woman had
done, and ere he had gone far they with much laughter and chiding
fetched him out of the ale-pot and dried him with fair satin napkins.
"Now ye have confessed that I know somewhat to the purpose," said
Eisirt, "and I will even eat of your food, but do ye give heed to my
words, and do ill no more."

Fergus then said, "If thou art a poet, Eisirt, give us now a taste of
thy delightful art." "That will I," said Eisirt, "and the poem that I
shall recite to you shall be an ode in praise of my king, Iubdan the
Great." Then he recited this lay:--

"A monarch of might
Is Iubdan my king.
His brow is snow-white,
His hair black as night;
As a red copper bowl
When smitten will sing,
So ringeth the voice
Of Iubdan the king.
His eyen, they roll
Majestic and bland
On the lords of his land
Arrayed for the fight,
A spectacle grand!
Like a torrent they rush
With a waving of swords
And the bridles all ringing
And cheeks all aflush,