THE SOLDIER. The King is beaten!
THE MONKS. My sorrow, my sorrow!
THE SOLDIER. The King is beaten, I say to you! O ye of the books and the
bells, small was your help to us in the hard battle! The King is beaten!
THE ABBOT. Where is the King?
THE SOLDIER. He is flying.
THE ABBOT. Give us the description of the battle.
THE SOLDIER. I cannot speak. Let a drink be given to me.
THE ABBOT. Let a drink be given to this man.
_The little boy who is called Giolla na Naomh gives him a drink of
water._
THE ABBOT. Speak to us now and give us the description of the battle.
THE SOLDIER. Each man of us was a fighter of ten. The King was a fighter
of a hundred. But what availed us our valour? We were beaten and we
fled. Hundreds lie sole to sole on the lea.