Moling:An early hour is it, thou madman,
for due celebration.
Suibhne:Though to thee, cleric, it may seem early,
terce has come in Rome.
Moling:How dost thou know, mad one,
when terce comes in Rome?
Suibhne:Knowledge comes to me from my Lord
each morn and each eve.
Moling:Relate through the mystery of speech
tidings of the fair Lord.
Suibhne:With thee is the (gift of) prophecy
if thou art Moling.
Moling:How dost thou know me,
thou toiling, cunning madman?
Suibhne:Often have I been upon this green
since my reason was overthrown.
Moling:Why dost thou not settle in one place,
thou son of Colman Cuar?
Suibhne:I had rather be in one seat
in life everlasting.
Moling:Miserable one, will thy soul reach
hell with vastness of slime?
Suibhne:God inflicts no pain on me
save being without rest.
Moling:Move hither that thou mayest eat
what thou deemest sweet.
Suibhne:If you but knew, cleric,
more grievous is it to be without a cloak.
Moling:Thou shalt take my cowl
or thou shalt take my smock.
Suibhne:Though to-day I am ghastly,
there was a time when it, was better.
Moling:Art thou the dreaded Suibhne
who came from the battle of Rath?
Suibhne:If I am, 'tis not to be guaranteed
what I might eat at early morn'.
Moling:Whence has come my recognition,
cunning madman, to thee?
Suibhne:Often am I upon this green
watching thee from afar.
Moling:Delightful is the leaf of this book,
the psalter of holy Kevin.
Suibhne:More delightful is a leaf of my yew
in happy Glen Bolcain.
Moling:Dost thou not deem this churchyard pleasant
with its school of beautiful colours?
Suibhne:Not more unpleasant was my muster
the morning at Magh Rath.
Moling:I will go for celebration
to Glais Cille Cro.
Suibhne:I will leap a fresh ivy-bush
a high leap, and it will be a greater feat.
Moling:Wearisome is it to me in this church
waiting on the strong and weak.
Suibhne:More wearisome is my couch
in chilly Benn Faibhni.
Moling:Where comes thy life's end,
in church or lake?
Suibhne:A herd of thine
will slay me at early morn.