David ‘The young May moon –’

Clement ‘– is beaming, love’. ‘The Last Rose of Summer’?

David ‘Believe Me if All Those Endearing Young Charms’?

Clement ‘The Minstrel Boy to the War Is Gone’? (to Richard) From his Irish Melodies.

Christopher Where did he (David) pick up all those?

Clement We consider him our national poet, Sir.

Richard Byron?

Clement Tom Moore. Little Tommy Moore. Our sweet and elegant mannikin. And when we lost him twenty-six years ago – to use his own image – the wind no longer blew through our sleeping harp.

Richard (totally confused. To Chris) Really?

Christopher Sorry we missed that. Will you perform for us again?

Richard This evening. What about this evening?

Christopher No, not today. Maybe next –

Clement Specially for your guests. It will be my pleasure. I’ll assemble my songsters in an hour’s time.

Christopher No, no, that’s much too much trouble for –

Clement It will be my pleasure. Just give me time to assemble my nightingales. (departing) Mr Richard – Mr Perkins –

Christopher Come back at once, O’Donnell. You’re not leaving this house without some hospitality.

David A sandwich, Clement? A piece of shortbread?

Clement On another occasion. We will require a brief rehearsal. Honoured to make your acquaintance.

David You’ll sing ‘Oft in the Stilly Night’ again?

Clement If you wish.

David Please do.

Clement (to Richard) I imagine you have poets in England of much greater accomplishment, Mr Richard. But Tom Moore is the finest singer we have; the voice of our nation. Yes – yes – a romantic man and given to easy sentiment, as I am myself; a mixture of rapture and pathos. But he has our true measure, Mr Richard. He divines us accurately. He reproduces features of our history and our character. And he is an astute poet who knows that certain kinds of songs are necessary for his people. And they were especially necessary at the time he sang them.

Richard Good heavens.

Clement Oh yes, our true measure, as I hope you’ll agree when you hear us. Truer of us, I am certain, than the people who felt they had to take vengeance on the unfortunate Lord Lifford. But sé sin scéal eile, a fabula alia. Anyhow, they are both gone now, the lord and the poet. And may they both find peace.

He exits. Richard bursts out laughing.

Richard Well – well! What a grotesque! And the reek of whiskey off him! Or was it ether?

Christopher Don’t underestimate him. An interesting study is Clement.

Richard A buffoon! ‘The voice of our nation’ – good God!

Christopher As he says himself, a man of some nicety.

Richard And he sired that delicious Margaret? That’s a damned lie. Put him in a skirt and he could be a dervish, Perkins, couldn’t he?

Perkins In a skirt, Sir, indeed.

Richard And notice the close-set eyes and the short arms. Certainly not native of this area, is he?

Christopher The O’Donnells have been here for close on two millennia.