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"You would, sir, would you?" said the man in grey, lifting his head on high, and curling his upper lip. "I would, indeed," said I, "my greatest desire at present is to see an Anglesey poet, but where am I to find one?" "Where is he to find one?" said he of the tattered hat; "where's the gwr boneddig to find a prydydd? No occasion to go far, he, he, he." "Well" said I, "but where is he?"
In the course of discourse he repeated some noble lines of Evan Evans, the unfortunate and eccentric Prydydd Hir, or tall poet, the friend and correspondent of Gray, for whom he made literal translations from the Welsh, which the great English genius afterwards wrought into immortal verse.
The latter emptied his in a minute, not forgetting first to say "the best prydydd in all the world!" the man in grey was also not slow to empty his own. The jug now passed rapidly between my two friends, for the poet seemed determined to have his full share of the beverage. I allowed the ale in my glass to remain untasted, and began to talk about the bards, and to quote from their works.
"You never had a prydydd like Huw Morris in South Wales," said he; "nor Twm o'r Nant either." "South Wales has produced good poets," said I. "No, it hasn't," said the old fellow; "it never produced one. If it had, you wouldn't have needed to come here to see the grave of a poet; you would have found one at home." As he said these words he got up, took his stick, and seemed about to depart.
"Where is he? why, there," said he, pointing to the man in grey "the greatest prydydd in tir Fon or the whole world." "Tut, tut, hold your tongue," said the man in grey. "Hold my tongue, myn Diawl, not I I speak the truth," then filling his glass he emptied it exclaiming, "I'll not hold, my tongue. The greatest prydydd in the whole world."
Drink, sir! but how is this? the jug is empty how is this? Oh, I see my friend sir, though an excellent individual, is indiscreet, sir very indiscreet. Landlord, bring this moment another jug of ale!" "The greatest prydydd," stuttered he of bulged shoe "the greatest prydydd Oh " "Tut, tut," said the man in grey. "I speak the truth and care for no one," said he of the tattered hat.
Have we not the words, not of Robin the Black, but Huw the Red to that effect? "'Brodir, gnawd ynddi prydydd; Heb ganu ni bu ni bydd. "That is: a hospitable country, in which a poet is a thing of course. It has never been and will never be without song." Here I became silent, and presently arrived at the side of a little dell or ravine, down which the road led, from east to west.
If I buy a pig he will help me to drive it home; if a horse, he will get up upon its back behind me. I might perhaps do without him, but I enjoy his company highly. He is sometimes rather indiscreet, but I do assure you he is exceedingly clever." "The greatest prydydd," said the man of the bulged shoe, "the greatest prydydd in the world."
"'The greatest prydydd, stuttered he of the bulged shoe 'the greatest prydydd Oh "'Tut, tut, said the man in grey. "'I speak the truth and care for no one, said he of the tattered hat. 'I say the greatest prydydd. If any one wishes to gainsay me let him show his face, and Myn Diawl The landlord brought the ale, placed it on the table, and then stood as if waiting for something.
"No, sir," said the damsel; "my master is a respectable man, and would scorn to do anything of the kind." "Why," said I, "is not your master a bard as well as an innkeeper?" "My master, sir, is an innkeeper," said the damsel; "but as for the other, I don't know what you mean." "A bard," said I, "is a prydydd, a person who makes verses pennillion; does not your master make them?"
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