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In his youth he was much addicted to poetry, and a great many pennillion of his composition, chiefly on his own thievish exploits, are yet recited by the inhabitants of certain districts of the shires of Brecon, Carmarthen, and Cardigan. Such is the history or rather the outline of the history of Twm Shone Catti.
"Nor above asking for one, your honour; there's a prydydd in this neighbourhood who will never lose a shilling for want of asking for it. Now, sir, have the kindness to tell me the name of the man who made those pennillion." "Lewis Glyn Cothi," said I; "at least, it was he who made the pennillion from which those verses are translated."
I sent some pennillion to the editor for insertion and he did not insert them. Peth a clwir cenfigen yn Saesneg?" "We call cenfigen in English envy," said I; "but as I told you before, envy will not always prevail." "You cannot imagine how pleased I am with your company," said the man in grey. "Landlord, landlord!" "The greatest prydydd," said the man of the tattered hat, "the greatest prydydd."
MYSELF. Because it was a house of idolatry to which people used to resort by hundreds to worship images. Had you lived at that time you would have seen people down on their knees before stocks and stones, worshipping them, kissing them, and repeating pennillion to them. FARMER. What fools! How thankful I am that I live in wiser days.
"Well, sir," said the old man, "I never before heard anything about it, indeed I don't trouble my head with histories, unless they be Bible histories." "Are you a Churchman?" said I. "No," said the old man, shortly; "I am a Methodist." "I belong to the Church," said I. "So I should have guessed, sir, by your being so well acquainted with pennillion and histories. Ah, the Church. . . . ."
The Guide The Great Plynlimmon A Dangerous Path Source of the Rheidol Source of the Severn Pennillion Old Times and New The Corpse Candle Supper. LEAVING the inn, my guide and myself began to ascend a steep hill just behind it. When we were about halfway up I asked my companion, who spoke very fair English, why the place was called the Castle.
"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?"
But," I continued, "there is such a thing as envy in the world, and there are a great many malicious people in the world, who speak against him." "A great many, sir, but we take what they say from whence it comes." "You do quite right," said I. "Has your master written any poetry lately?" "Sir!" said the damsel staring at me. "Any poetry," said I, "any pennillion?"
"Why I sent him some pennillion for insertion, and he did not insert them." "Were they in Welsh or English?" "In Welsh, of course." "Well, then the man had some excuse for disregarding them because you know the TIMES is written in English." "Oh, you mean the London TIMES," said the man in grey. "Pooh! I did not allude to that trumpery journal, but the Liverpool TIMES, the Amserau.
FARMER. Might I? Then those couldn't have been such bad times, after all. MYSELF. I beg your pardon! They were horrible times times in which there were monks and friars and graven images, which people kissed and worshipped and sang pennillion to.
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