"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?"
"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."
"Then I have the honour to be seated with a bard of Anglesey?" said
I, addressing the man in grey.
"Tut, tut," said he of the grey suit.
"The greatest prydydd in the whole world," iterated he of the
bulged shoe, with a slight hiccup, as he again filled his glass.
"Then," said I, "I am truly fortunate."
"Sir," said the man in grey, "I had no intention of discovering
myself, but as my friend here has betrayed my secret, I confess
that I am a bard of Anglesey - my friend is an excellent individual
but indiscreet, highly indiscreet, as I have frequently told him,"
and here he looked most benignantly reproachful at him of the
tattered hat.
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