Deirdre Monologue from John Millington Synge

From John Millington Synge by Deirdre of the Sorrows

49 sec

You must not go, Naisi, and leave me to the High King, a man is aging in his dun, with his crowds round him, and his silver and gold. I will not live to be shut up in Emain, and wouldn’t we do well paying, Naisi, with silence and a near death. I’m a long while in the woods with my own self, and I’m in little dread of death, and it earned with riches would make the sun red with envy, and he going up the heavens; and the moon pale and lonesome, and she wasting away. Isn’t it a small thing is foretold about the ruin of ourselves, Naisi, when all men have age coming and great ruin in the end?

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