W. B. Yeats,
In The Seven Woods: Being Poems Chiefly of the Irish Heroic Age
“ CUCHULLAIN. You do, great King.Because their youth is the kind wandering waveThat carries me about the world; and if it sank,My sword would lose its lightness. CONCOBAR. Yet, Cuchullain,Emain should be the foremost town of the world. CUCHULLAIN.It is the foremost town.CONCOBAR. No, no, it’s not.Nothing but men can make towns great, and he,The one over-topping man that’s in the world,Keeps far away. DAIRE. He will not hear you, King,And we old men had best keep companyWith one another. I’ll fill the horn for you.53CONCOBAR.I will not drink, old fool. ”
