xx Ireland

the world then, strange fascinating lands beckon us, with us rebel and their exotic spenders, come with us as we head for a port of call. As we approach Ireland, both sea and sky are grey, a soft delicate grey which seems to envelop this fabulous island in mysterious gossamer veils, filtering through it a diffused sunlight touches with

silver the gulls whirling over our ship, and bathes with a subdued radiance the unbelievably green coasts of the Emerald Isle. Here is a port of call rich in subtle charm. Ireland, land of saints and scholars, of poets and heroes, of legend, romance and beauty. Over the lush green of Ireland's wooded hills, over her

misty lowlands, her enchanted lakes, her vine-grown castles, broods the spirit of olden time. We seem to hear the rippling melody of the ancient minstrel's heart. It awakens in us the memory of Ireland's fairest daughter, she whose memory lives in the immortal tale of Tristan and a soldier.

Up from the sea and into the castle of Tintago, where in the days of Arthur, thrown King Mark of Cornwall, comes the strong knights, Ermaus, bearing a message. King Mark, you hold your lands in vassalage from King Angus of Ireland, yet you refuse to pay the tribute.

That is true, Ermaus. King Angus sends me as his champion to fight for the tribute. for the tribute in single combat very well if my Cornish Knight wins there will be no more tribute and if you win I shall pay the double of what your master demands forever knights and parents to which of you the glory of fighting for Cornwall

what does this mean are you afraid there is no one in your court who can best this Irish champion this is scandamous your nights are all too modest your Majesty. However, I shall await your champion until tomorrow. If you can find one, a well-valued nobles of Cornwall. What a discreet! Worse, Uncle! It is cardis! For same all of you! King