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Updated: May 1, 2025
Here's a Tibbot or Tibault harrowing stones on a Welsh road, and I have known a Mortimer munching poor cheese and bread under a hedge on an English one. How can we account for this save by the supposition that the descendants of proud, cruel, and violent men and who so proud, cruel and violent, as the old Normans are doomed by God to come to the dogs?"
In the same way, when he has told a man called Dafydd Tibbot, that he is a Frenchman "Dearie me, sir, am I indeed?" says the man, very pleased he supposes the man a descendant of a proud, cruel, violent Norman, for the descendants of proud, cruel and violent men "are doomed by God to come to the dogs."
"Tibbot, Tibbot," said I; "why, you are a Frenchman." "Dearie me, sir," said the man, looking very pleased, "am I, indeed?" "Yes, you are," said I, rather repenting of my haste, and giving him sixpence, I left him.
I proceeded for about a mile, and then perceiving a man wheeling stones in a barrow for the repairing of the road I thought I would inquire of him. I did so, but the village was then out of sight, and though I pointed in its direction and described its situation I could not get its name out of him. At last I said hastily, "Can you tell me your own name?" "Dafydd Tibbot, sir," said he.
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