« AnteriorContinuar »
wasted a good deal of our valuable time, therefore I do not see why the aristocrats of Portland place should not be honoured as well as Jermyn street;-but, methinks I should like a Welsh rabbit, and a taste of the bowl.
Colonel. I second the motion.
[The lackeys fly to the kitchen, while Morgan sets about the serious work of making a bowl.)
Northwold. Now we have got rid of yonder incubus, I bethink me, Colonel, you said something about a trip into the Principality.
Colonel. Yes, next long vacation, will you go?
Northwold. I will so arrange it; and in that case, Secretary, I shall stand in need of a few introductions.
Secretary. You shall have them, of course, on condition that you invoke your muse on the top of Snowdon.
Northwold. Indeed I will; although, from all I have heard, the scene itself will do away with the necessity of invocation.
Secretary. In truth it will : have you not been in Wales ?
Northwold. Just enough to swear by: a little in Flintshire and Denbighshire. I drank some glorious ale at Wrexham, and saw a good quantity of pretty and interesting maids in red cloaks, and that's all.
Doctor. Trust him for finding out the pretty girls. (The Welsh rabbits arrive.)
Northwold. Advance to the charge: bow the dish smokes! bravo Cookey! well served. Morgan, give me the Cayenne.
Colonel. Excellent, i'faith. By the by how will they feed us in your country, friend Secretary?
Secretary. Never fear but you will be fed like the rich man in the parable; and well I know that you and the Professor are not the churls who would refuse a portion of your viands to any unfortunate Lazarus who might fall in your way.
Northwold. God forbid ! Morgan, put the bowl on the table, (drinks deep:) ba, spirit of St. David! but the ale has a most nectareous flavor. (The Colonel, the Doctor, and the Secretary, do honour to the Llangollen, in turns.)
Northwold. Why, gentlemen, (looking into the bowl,) you are no effeminate kissers of goblets, at any rate. Morgan, another bowl, in the name of the red cloaks I just now mentioned. (An hour is spent in discussing the bowl.)
Colonel. I know not whether it be that hard service bas had its effect upon me; but from that, or some other cause, I generally find myself cozy and thirsty, and all that sort of thing, towards evening. You all know I never get drunk, so to speak: jovial, perhaps, now and then, but
Northwold. What wouldst thou say, Colonel? doth thy preamble go towards making up the old British triad, in the shape of another bowl? for be it remembered, although we have already had three, that our somniferons friend drank one to his own cheek; so a truce to prosing. Morgan, fill another to the brim.
Secretary. Sing us the while the old song of “The glasses sparkle on the board." Doctor. No, no! “ Love's young dream."
Colonel. I vote for the song in honour of Baccbus, Venus and her votaries being long since in bed.
Northwold. The jolly god has “the ayes” in his favor. (Sings, “The glasses sparkle on the board.”)
Secretary. Would that our old bills could echo to that voice!
Northwold. Ye gods! bring the Metheglin, the liquor of the immortal bards. (Morgan places the Metheglin on the table; the glasses are filled round frequently; the Metheglin diminishes rapidly.)
Northwold. Our Alpha and Omega of toasts, " The King.”
AU. “ The King,” (three times three, led by the Doctor, who has become quite valiant.)
Northwold. Well shouted, Doctor; now join me in the national anthem. (Northwold leads, seconded by the Doctor; all join in chorus.)
To the Editors. GENTLEMEN, I am sorry your valuable correspondent Peris should appear to give evidence to the idle tradition of Eich dyn, which I always considered so palpably absurd as not to deserve an argument in refutation. The tale is said to exist in several old Welsh mss.; but as old is a relative term, I should like to know what is to be understood by it. To corroborate such an assertion, we ought to have the evidence of a contemporary, and if this cannot be obtained, certainly of one not removed above three generations; but I will venture to say, no writer will be found to mention it earlier than the sixteenth century, if even then: Peris will, therefore, oblige his countrymen by giving the date of the oldest Welsh mss. in which it occurs.
But we will examine the story: Edward I. is said to have presented his son to the Welsh with the expression, “Behold, eich dyn, your man!” Now if the king wished to address himself in Welsh to the people of the country, it must, nevertheless, be allowed that he thought in English, and, therefore, that the speech he made would necessarily be a translation. But the common acceptation of the phrase “I'm your man,”
your man,” implies “I am,” or “Here is the person to serve you,” and is more fully explained by the antithesis, “master and man." Edward would therefore, surely, never represent his son to the Cambrian chieftains as their servant. He might have said “Here is your prince or lord;" and if he was inquiring how he might translate this, he would have been told by the word tywysog or arglwydd. But allowing, for a moment, he used the expression "eich dyn," we must suppose that it became the motto of Edward II. and Edward III.; whereas the earliest English authority we have for Ich dyn is in the will of the Black Prince. On the tomb the words are #ch diene, which, except the final e, would be perfect German of the present day, and, judging from analogy, in all probability was completely so at that time. It is to be observed that this motto accompanies the feathers which were the arms of peace, i. e. for the tournament, and not the royal arms, which were those for war; a sufficient proof, by the way, that the king of Bohemia could have had nothing to do with it. My opinion is, that it may have belonged to his maternal grandfather, a great warrior, or that he himself had assumed it at his court in Hainault, where he may have obtained some success in the joust.
I wish the Welsh would not cling so tenaciously to such foolish traditions; such conduct only subjects them to the ridicule of their
neighbours, while they really possess abundance of curious historical and literary facts that are highly valuable.
Peris has likewise committed an oversight in saying that Lewis Glyn Cothi flourished from 1460 to 1480, as the very Awdl i Harri 'r seithved must extend that period to 1485.
Any of your correspondents that understand Dutch might give the translation he requests of the inscriptions on the brass box.
I am happy to record one instance in which a proper compliment has been paid to “Encyclopædian Rees." My highly illustrious and condescending friend, His Royal Highness the Duke of Sussex, who is certainly the Mæcenas of modern times, has done due honour to this gentleman, by associating his portrait with that of Dr. Parr, to ornament his principal library at Kensington palace. Such papers
“the Extreate of the third and last entyer subsidy," &c., are of the utmost value to genealogists, and I fervently hope the publication of that will be followed by the communication of many others. Edmond Meyricke, whose name occurs as in the parish of Llandervel, succeeded to the possession of Ucheldrw and the manor of Gwyddelwern on the death of his father, Peter, in November 1630. Peter had by his first wife, Lowri or Leucu wen, daughter of Lewys Anwyl, two sons, Edmund and Rowland, and four daughters, Margaret, Jane, Elizabeth, and Katherine. Of these, at the time he made his will, only the two sons and the daughter Jane were living. It is proved from a list of magistrates for Merionethshire, in the year 1631, that Edmond was then in the commission of the peace. He was also a deputy-lieutenant for that county in 1640, as appears from his signature as one, to a letter bearing date July 2, in that year, addressed to the earl of Bridgwater, lord president. On September 23, 1645, he, together with Sir John Owen and Roland Vaughan, being at Chester, were made prisoners there by the opposite party. Bishop Humphreys, in a letter to Anthony Wood, among the Lansdowne mss. in the British Museum, mentions him as “a member of the Healing parliament, in 1660, for the county of Merioneth; a man of great prudence and authority in his country." He married Catherine, daughter of Sir Evan, and sister of Sír Francis Llwyd, knight; but left no issue. His brother, Roland Meyricke, died before him, having had by his wife, daughter of Davies of Glad Alwch, three sons, Peter, Fdward, and Thomas, and a daughter Catherine. Peter succeeded to the estates of his uncle, and Thomas may
have been the person whose name occurs as of the parish of Llanvachreth.
I have the honour to remain
S. R. MEYRICK.
To the Editors. GENTLEMEN, The Cornish specimens sent to you by Penllyn, which appear, in your number for October, amid the Olion, are sufficiently curious as affording additional proof of the close affinity existing between the Welsh and the Cornish languages. Indeed, in the stanzas sent, you have little else to do than remodel the orthography, and with the exception of a few words of English here and there inserted, you have as good Welsh as need be spoken or written. This I will endeavour to shew by placing the several stanzas in juxtaposition with their antitypes, in a Welsh dress and modern orthography
The same in Welsh.
The same in English.
The same in Welsh.
* Wy abys, you shall beseech, (seemingly a corruption.)
Rebellis, of course an anglicism.
The same in English.
The same in Welsh.
Duw siwr drwy virtue ein Tad, i ni a ddodes wared,
The same in English.
The same in Welsh.
* Vertu, virtue; Skyans science; are of English origin of course. + Thudder, surely means doethder, if the English translator is right.
Deth brass, dydd bras, the great day; "science bras" above. § Dremus, in the Cornish, means the good man. i Parth gledd, i. e. the sword, or left side.