Then Sinech sang this praise to Diarmait:
Saith Guare:
- Every faint-hearted son of a lord, | a counsel I have for thee about him,
he shall walk righthandwise round the mark: | he shall have my champion's leavings.- Not on necks of oxen or cows | is my champion's sword blunted,
'tis on kings that the sword | in Diarmait's hand today makes a whistling noise.- Guare son of Colmán, the king, | befouled the trees of Aidne:
he cast forth ordures as big as a cow's head, | for dread of my champion.- Since a shower of blood has bespattered | Diarmait's blue-coloured shirt,
the dress of a man who turns back battles | is not meet without many colours.- Since a shower of blood has bespattered | the breast of Diarmait's steed,
the water with which Crip is washed | is not clear for the Sacrifice.- When in turns the warlike shafts | are hurled on every side
a bloody mantle were not strange | on the shaft from Diarmait's hand.
- When the small javelins are loosed | at the beginning of their conflict,
the pair which first meets (them) | is Diarmait's steed and himself.
Saith she:
- I promise this, I promise,
if Sinech reach a fold
I will not leave her alive,
I will slay her with my kick.
- I promise. | Sinech reaches not a fold:
there are no warriors. ... | why dost thou not know it ...?- Diarmait the hero, good the king, | outgrows every one through boldness,
the king usually outgrows every one, | so that he causes sadness to all.