THE KING

THE KING 


A MORALITY 

By Padraig Pearse

translated from Irish by Mr Joseph Campbell

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CHARACTERS 

Giolla na Naomh ("the Servant 
of the Saints"), a Little Boy

Boys 

An Abbot 

Monks 

A King 

Heroes 

Gillies 

Women 

PLACE — An ancient monastry 

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THE KING 

A green before the monastery. The voices 
of monks are heard chanting. Through the 
chanting breaks the sound of a trumpet. A 
little boy runs out from the monastery and 
stands on the green looking in the direction 
whence the trumpet has spoken. 

The Boy. Conall, Diarmaid, Giolla na 
Naomh ! 

The voices of other boys answer him. 
First Boy. There is a host marching 
from the North. 

Second Boy. Where is it ? 

First Boy. See it beneath you in the 
glen. 

Third Boy. It is the King’s host. 
Fourth Boy. The King is going to 
battle. 

The trumpet speaks again, nearer. The 
boys go upon the rampart of the monastery. 
The murmur of a marching host is heard. 

First Boy. I see the horses and the 
riders. 


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Second Boy. I see the swords and the 
spears. 

Fourth Boy. I see the standards and 
the banners. 

Third Boy. I see the King’s banner. 

Fourth Boy. I see the King ! 

First Boy. Which of them is the 
King ? 

Fourth Boy. The tall comely man on 
the black horse. 

Giolla na Naomh. Let us salute the 
King. 

The Boys (with the voice of one). Take 
victory in battle and slaying, O King ! 

The voices of warriors are heard ac- 
claiming the King as the host marches past 
with din of weapons and music of trumpet 
and pipes. Silence succeeds. 


First Boy. I would like to be a King. 

Giolla na Naomh. Why ? 

First Boy. The King has gold and 
silver. 

Second Boy. He has noble jewels in his 
jewel-house. 

Third Boy. He has slender steeds and 
gallant hounds. 

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Fourth Boy. He has a keen-edged, gold- 
hilted sword and a mighty-shafted, blue- 
headed spear and a glorious red-emblazoned 
shield. I saw him once in my father’s 
house. 

First Boy. What was he like ? 

Fourth Boy. He was tall and noble. 
He was strong and broad-shouldered. He 
had long fair hair. He had a comely 
proud face. He had two piercing grey 
eyes. A white vest of satin next his skin. 
A very beautiful red tunic, with a white 
hood, upon his body. A royal mantle of 
purple about him. Seven colours upon him, 
between vest and tunic and hood and mantle. 
A silver brooch upon his breast. A kingly 
diadem upon his head, and the colour of 
gold upon it. Two great wings rising 
above his head, as white as the two wings of 
a sea-gull and as broad as the two wings of an 
eagle. He was a gallant man. 

Second Boy, And what was the look of 
his face ? 

Third Boy. Did he look angry, stern ? 

Fourth Boy. He did, at times. 

First Boy. Had he a laughing look ? 

Fourth Boy. He laughed only once. 

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Second Boy. How did he look mostly ? 
Stern or laughing ? 

Fourth Boy. He looked sorrowful. When 
he was talking to the kings and the heroes 
he had an angry and a laughing look every 
second while, but when he was silent he 
was sorrowful. 

First Boy. What sorrow can he have ? 

Fourth Boy. I do not know. The 
thousands he has slain, perhaps. 

Second Boy. The churches he has 
plundered. 

Third Boy. The battles he has lost. 

Giolla na Naomh. Alas, the poor King ! 

Second Boy. You would not like to be 
a King, Giolla na Naomh ? 

Giolla na Naomh. I would not. I would 
rather be a monk that I might pray for the 
King. 

Fourth Boy. I may have the kingship 
of this country when I am a man, for my 
father is of the royal blood. 

Second Boy. And my father is of the 
royal blood, too. 

Third Boy. Aye, and mine. 

Fourth Boy. I will not let the kingdom 
go with either of you. It is mine ! 


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Second Boy. It is not, but mine 

Third Boy. It matters not whose it is, 
for I will have it ! 

Second Boy. No, nor anyone of your 
house ! 

Fourth Boy (seizing a switch of sally and 
brandishing it). I will ply the venom of my 
sword upon you ! I will defend my king- 
dom against my enemies ! Giolla na 
Naomh, pray for the King ! 

A bell sounds from the monastery. 

Giolla na Naomh. The bell is ringing. 

The people of the monastery come upon 
the green in ones and twos, the Abbot last. 
The boys gather a little apart. Distant
sounds of battle are heard. 

The Abbot, My children, the King is 
giving battle to his foes. 

First Monk. This King has lost every 
battle into which he has gone up to this. 

The Abbot. In a vision that I saw last 
night as I knelt before my God it was re- 
vealed to me that the battle will be broken 
on the King again. 

Second Monk. My grief ! 

Third Monk. My grief ! 

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First Monk. Tell us. Father, the cause 
of these unnumbered defeats. 

The Abbot. Do you think that an offer- 
ing will be accepted from polluted hands ? 
This King has shed the blood of the 
innocent. He has made spoils and forays. 
He has oppressed the poor. He has for- 
saken the friendship of God and made 
friends with evil-doers. 

First Monk. That is true. Yet it is a 
good fight that the King fights now, for he 
gives battle for his people. 

The Abbot. It is an angel that should 
be sent to pour out the wine and to break 
the bread of this sacrifice. Not by an 
unholy King should the noble wine that 
is in the veins of good heroes be spilt ; 
not at the behest of a guilty king should 
fair bodies be mangled. I say to you that 
the offering will not be accepted. 

First Monk. And are all guilty of the 
sins of the King ? If the King is defeated 
it’s grief will be for all. Why must all 
suffer for the sins of the King ? On the 
King the eric ! 

The Abbot. The nation is guilty of the 
sins of its princes. I say to you that this 

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nation shall not be freed until it chooses for 
itself a righteous King. 

Second Monk, Where shall a righteous 
King be found? 

The Abbot. I do not know, unless he 
be found among these little boys. 

The boys have drawn near and are 
gathered about the Abbot. 

First Monk. And shall the people be in 
bondage until these little lads are fit for 
battle ? It is not the King’s case I pity, 
but the case of the people. I heard women 
mourning last night. Shall women be 
mourning in this land till doom ? 

Third Monk. As I went out from the 
monastery yesterday there was a dead man 
on the verge of the wood. Battle is terrible. 

Second Monk. No, battle is glorious ! 
While we were singing our None but 
now, Father, I heard, through the psalmody 
of the brethren, the voice of a trumpet. 
My heart leaped, and I would fain have 
risen from the place where I was and gone 
after that gallant music. I should not have 
cared though it were to my death I went. 

The Abbot. That is the voice of a young 
man. The old wait for death, but the 

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young go to meet it. If into this quiet 
place, where monks chant and children play, 
there were to come from yonder battle- 
field a bloodstained man, calling upon all 
to follow him into the battle-press, there is 
none here that would not rise and follow 
him, but I myself and the old brother that 
rings our bell. There is none of you, 
young brothers, no, nor any of these little 
lads, that would not rise from me and go 
into the battle. That music of the fighters 
makes drunk the hearts of young men. 

Second Monk. It is good for young men 
to be made drunk. 

First Monk. Brother, you speak wicked- 
ness. 

The Abbot. There is a heady ale which 
all young men should drink, for he who 
has not been made drunk with it has not 
lived. It is with that ale that God makes 
drunk the hearts of the saints. I would not 
forbid you your intoxication, O young men ! 

First Monk. This is not plain. Father. 

The Abbot. Do you think if that terrible, 
beautiful voice for which young men strain 
their ears were to speak from yon place 
where the fighters are, and the horses, and 

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the music, that I would stay you, did ye 
rise to obey it ? Do you think I would 
grudge any of you ? Do you’think I would 
grudge the dearest of these little boys, to 
death calling with that terrible, beautiful 
voice ? I would let you all go, though I and 
the old brother should be very lonely here. 

Second Boy. Giolla na Naomh would 
not go. Father. 

The Abbot. Why do you say that ? 

Second Boy. He said that he would 
rather be a monk. 

The Abbot. Would you not go into 
the battle, Giolla na Naomh ? 

Giolla na Naomh. I would. I would 
go as a gilly to the King, that I might serve 
him when all would forsake him. 

The Abbot. But it is to the saints you are 
gilly, Giolla na Naomh, and not to the King. 

Giolla na Naomh. It were not much for 
the poor King to have one little gilly that 
would not forsake him when the battle would 
be broken on him and all forsaking him. 

The Abbot. This child is right. While 
we think of glory he thinks of service. 

An outcry as of grief and dismay is heard 
from the battlefeld. 


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First Monk. I fear me that the King is 
beaten ! 

The Abbot. Go upon the rampart and 
tell us what you see. 

First Monk (having gone upon the ram- 
part). A man comes towards us in flight. 

Second Monk. What manner of man is 
he ? 

First Monk. A bloodstained man, all 
spent, his feet staggering and stumbling 
under him. 

Second Monk. Is he a man of the King’s 
people ? 

First Monk. He is. 

A soldier comes upon the green all spent. 

The Soldier. The King is beaten ! 

The Monks. My sorrow, my sorrow ! 

The Soldier. The King is beaten, I say 
to you ! O ye of the books and the bells, 
small was your help to us in the hard battle ! 
The King is beaten ! 

The Abbot. Where is the King? 

The Soldier. He is flying. 

The Abbot. Give us the description of 
the battle. 

The Soldier. I cannot speak. Let a 
drink be given to me. 


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The Abbot. Let a drink be given to this 
man. 

The little boy who is called Giolla na 
Naomh gives him a drink of water. 

The Abbot. Speak to us now and give 
us the description of the battle. 

The Soldier. Each man of us was a 
fighter of ten. The King was a fighter of 
a hundred. But what availed us our valour ? 
We were beaten and we fled. Hundreds 
lie sole to sole on the lea. 

The Monks. My sorrow ! My sorrow ! 

A din grows. 

Second Monk. Who comes ? 

First Monk. The King ! 

Riders and gillies come upon the green pell- 
mell., the King in their midst. The King 
goes upon his knees before the Abbott and 
throws his sword upon the ground. 

The King. Give me your curse, O man 
of God, and let me go to my death ! I am 
beaten. My people are beaten. Ten battles 
have I fought against my foes, and every 
battle of them has been broken on me. It 
is I who have brought God’s wrath upon 
this land. Ask your God not to wreak his 


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anger on my people henceforth, but to 
wreak it on me. Have pity on my people, 

O man of God ! 

The Abbot. God will have pity on them. 
The King. God has forsaken me. 

The Abbot. You have forsaken God. 

The King. God has forsaken my people. 

The Abbot. He has not, neither will He. 
He will save this nation if it choose a 
righteous King. 

The King. Give it then a righteous 
King. Give it one of your monks or one 
of these little lads to be its King. The 
battle on your protection, O man of God ! 

The Abbot. Not so, but on the protec- 
tion of the sword of a righteous King. 
Speak to me, my children, and tell me who 
among you is the most righteous ? 

First Monk. I have sinned. 

Second Monk. And I. 

Third Monk. Father, we have all sinned. 
The Abbot. I, too, have sinned. All 
that are men have sinned. How soon we 
exchange the wisdom of children for the 
folly of men ! O wise children, busy with 
your toys while we are busy with our sins ! 

I see clearly now. I shall find a sinless 


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King among these little boys. Speak to 
me, boys, and tell me who is most innocent 
among you ? 

The Boys (with one voice). Giolla na 
Naomh. 

The Abbot. The little lad that waits 
upon all ! Ye are right. The last shall be 
first. Giolla na Naomh, will you be King 
over this nation ? 

Giolla na Naomh. I am too young. 
Father, I am too weak. 

The Abbot. Come hither to me, child. 
(The child goes over to him.) O fosterling that 
I have nourished, if I ask this thing of you, 
will you not do it ? 

Giolla na Naomh. I will be obedient 
to you. Father. 

The Abbot. Will you turn your face 
into the battle ? 

Giolla na Naomh. I will do the duty 
of a King. 

The Abbot. Little one, it may be that 
your death will come of it. 

Giolla na Naomh. Welcome is death 
if it be appointed to me. 

The Abbot. Did I not say that the 
young seek death ? They are spendthrift 


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of all that we hoard jealously ; they pursue 
all that we shun. The terrible, beautiful 
voice has spoken to this child. O herald 
death, you shall be answered ! I will not 
grudge you my fosterling. 

The King. Abbot, I will fight my own 
battles : no child shall die for me ! 

The Abbot. You have given me your 
sword, and I give it to this child. God 
has spoken through the voice of His ancient 
herald, the terrible, beautiful voice that 
comes out of the heart of battles. 

Giolla na Naomh. Let me do this 
little thing. King. I will guard your banner 
well. I will bring you back your sword 
after the battle. I am only your little gilly, 
who watches while the tired King sleeps. 
I will sleep to-night while you shall watch. 

The King. My pity, my three pities ! 

Giolla na Naomh. We slept last night 
while you were marching through the dark 
country. Poor King, your marchings have 
been long. My march will be very short. 

The Abbot. Let this gentle asking pre- 
vail with you, King. I say to you that 
God has spoken. 

The King. I do not understand your God. 

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The Abbot. Who understands Him ? He 
demands not understanding, but obedience. 
This child is obedient, and because he is 
obedient, God will do mighty things through 
him. King, you must yield to this. 

The King. I yield, I yield ! Woe is 
me that I did not fall in yonder onset ! 

The ABBOT. Let this child be stripped 
that the raiment of a King may be put 
about him. (The child is stripped of his 
clothing.) Let a royal vest be put next the 
skin of the child. (A royal vest is put upon 
him.) Let a royal tunic be put about him. 
(A royal tunic is put about him above the vest, 
and sandals upon his feet.) Let the royal 
mantle be put about him. (The King takes 
of the royal mantle and it is put upon the child.) 
Let a royal diadem be put upon his head. 
(The King takes of the royal diadem and it is 
put upon the child's head.) Let him be given 
the shield of the King. (The shieldbearer 
holds up the shield.) A blessing on this 
shield ! May it be firm against foes ! 

The Heroes. A blessing on this shield! 

The shield is put on the child's left arm. 

The Abbot. Let him be given the spear 
of the King, (the spearbearer comes forward 

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and holds up the spear.) A blessing on this 
spear ! May it be sharp against foes ! 

The Heroes. A blessing on this spear ! 

The Abbot. Let him be given the sword 
of the King. (The King lifts his sword and 
girds it round the child' s waist. Giolla na 
Naomh draws the sword and holds it in his right 
hand.) A blessing on this sword ! May it 
be hard to smite foes ! 

The Heroes. A blessing on this sword ! 

The Abbot. I call this little lad King, 
and I put the battle under his protection in 
the name of God. 

The King (kneeling before the boy). I do 
homage to thee, O King, and I put the 
battle under thy protection. 

The Heroes, Monks, Boys, etc. (kneeling). 
We do homage to thee, O King, and we 
put the battle under thy protection. 

Giolla na Naomh. I undertake to 
sustain the battle in the name of God. 

The Abbot. Let a steed be brought him. 
(A steed is brought.) Let the banner of the 
King be unfurled. (The banner is unfurled.) 
Turn thy face to the battle, O King ! 

Giolla na Naomh (kneeling). Bless me. 
Father. 


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The Abbot. A blessing on thee, little one.

The Heroes, etc. (with one voice). Take 
victory in battle and slaying, O King. 

The little King mounts., and, with the 
heroes and soldiers and gillies, rides to the 
battle. The Abbot, the King, the Monks, 
and the Boys watch them. 

The Abbot. King, I have given you the 
noblest jewel that was in my house. I 
loved yonder child. 

The King. Priest, I have never received 
from my tributary kings a kinglier gift. 

First Monk. They have reached the 
place of battle. 

The Abbot. O strong God, make strong 
the hand of this child. Make firm his foot. 
Make keen his sword. Let the purity of 
his heart and the humbleness of his spirit be 
unto him a magnifying of courage and an 
exaltation of mind. Ye angels that fought 
the ancient battles, ye veterans of God, 
make a battle-pen about him and fight before 
him with flaming swords. 

The Monks and Boys. Amen, Amen. 
The Abbot. O God, save this nation by 
the sword of the sinless boy. 

The King. And O Christ, that was 

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crucified on the hill, bring the child safe 
from the perilous battle. 

The Abbot. King, King, freedom is not 
purchased but with a great price. (A 
trumpet speaks.) Let the description of the 
battle be given us. 

The First Monk and the Second Monk go 
upon the rampart. 

First Monk. The two hosts are face to 
face. Another trumpet speaks. 

Second Monk. That is sweet ! It is the 
trumpet of the King ! Shouts. 

First Monk. The King’s host raises 
shouts. Other shouts. 

Second Monk. The enemy answers them. 

First Monk. The hosts advance against 
each other. 

Second Monk. They fight. 

First Monk. Our people are yielding. 

Third Monk. Say not so. 

Second Monk. My grief, they are 
yielding. A trumpet speaks. 

Third Monk. Sweet again ! It is timely 
spoken, O trumpet of the King ! 

First Monk. The King’s banner is going 
into the battle ! 

Second Monk. I see the little King ! 

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Third Monk. Is he going into the battle ? 

First Monk. Yes. 

The Monks and Boys (with one voice ). 
Take victory in battle and slaying, O King ! 

Second Monk. It is a good fight now. 

First Monk. Two seas have met on the 
plain. 

Second Monk. Two raging seas ! 

First Monk. One sea rolls back. 

Second Monk. It is the enemy that 
retreats ! 

First Monk. The little King goes 
through them. 

Second Monk. He goes through them 
like a hawk through small birds. 

First Monk. Yea, like a wolf through a 
flock of sheep on a plain. 

Second Monk. Like a torrent through a 
mountain gap. 

First Monk. It is a road of rout before 
him. 

Second Monk. There are great uproars 
in the battle. It is a roaring path down 
which the King rides. 

First Monk. O golden head above the 
slaughter ! O shining, terrible sword of the 
King! 

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Segond Monk. The enemy flies ! 

First Monk. They are beaten ! They 
are beaten ! It is a red road of rout ! Raise 
shouts of exultation ! 

Second Monk. My grief! 

First Monk. My grief! My grief! 

The Abbot. What is that ? 

First Monk. The little King is down ! 

The Abbot. Has he the victory ? 

First Monk. Yes, but he himself is 
down. I do not see his golden head. I 
do not see his shining sword. My grief! 
They raise his body from the plain. 

The Abbot. Is the enemy flying ? 

Second Monk. Yes, they fly. They 
are pursued. They are scattered. They 
are scattered as a mist would be scattered. 
They are no longer seen on the plain. 

The Abbot. It’s thanks to God ! (Keening 
is heard.) Thou hast been answered, O 
terrible voice ! Old herald, my foster child 
has answered ! 

Third Monk.They bear hither a dead child. 

The King. He said that he would sleep 
to-night and that I should watch. 

Heroes come upon the green bearing the 
body of Giolla na Naomh on a bier ; there 

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are women keening it. The bier is laid in 
the centre of the green. 

The King. He has brought me back my 
sword. He has guarded my banner well. 

The Abbot (lifting the sword from the 
bier). Take the sword. 

The King. No, I will let him keep it. 
A King should sleep with a sword. This 
was a very valiant King. (He takes the 
sword from the Abbot and lays it again upon 
the bier. He kneels.) I do homage to thee, 
O dead King, O victorious child ! I kiss 
thee, O white body, since it is thy purity 
that hath redeemed my people. (He kisses 
the forehead of Giolla na Naomh. They 
commence to keen again.) 

The Abbot. Do not keen this child, for 
he hath purchased freedom for his people. 
Let shouts of exultation be raised and let a 
canticle be sung in praise of God. 

The body is borne into the monastery with 
a Te Deum. 


THE SCENE CLOSES. 


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glossary 

gilly : wagon
eric : fine to be paid
raiment: garment
diadem: crown
bier: a movable frme for a corpse
canticle: bible song
te deum: a bible song