Mannanán questions Mongán:
How goes it on the bounds of my Western shores
Since the arrogant "Emperor of the Gael"
Has met his fate and heard his Bean ShÍdhe wail?
Such a d**h fitting
For granting gifts of gold
To the followers of the buachaill dé
Elevating them to such haughty heights
That they do deny us our inheritance
Mongáin replies:
His family be in ruins
All save the spawn of Gormlaith
A son of Ború. Who did die broken too
How Ironic!
Rudderless be Éire's People
Kings in Opposition all
Their fall be at hand
Soon will come their doom
Mannanán to the Gael:
No one to lead you now
Muintir na nGael
None shall, for you have turned your backs
On the gods of your people
Strife shall reek havoc across your lands
(For a millennium)
And ye will stare into the very face of ye'er doom
The Ollamh, File and Bard
Are being driven from the courts of the kings
By the followers of the young god
Whose strength is on the rise
It is not so easy to turn your back
On those who have kept ye safe
Solely for purchase of profit and power