Gruffudd Gryg's First Debate Poem
It's a shame that Dafydd is so unwell -
there's an auger of love in him.
It's a strange thing for Dafydd, the rascal,
4 the son of Gwilym Gam, the blameless man,
the cheeky lad, companion of wrath,
he is languishing with a hundred pains.
Also, the savage son
8 is nursing a poem in secret hidden places.
His yell is long feeble work,
by God's mother, a Welshman, he says,
is suffering dreadful agony,
12 it's amazing that he's still alive.
Everywhere, cheeks full of passion,
Mary hears him, his injuries are great,
ruining Dafydd's whole body
16 there are pains as numerous as the stars.
Woe is me if a sharp spear of yew
is in the leading poet.
Not a battle spear amongst thousands,
20 not the spear of St. Anthony's Fire, but a weak spear.
Not a spear in the back, an honourable manner,
not a bone disease, but weakness.
Not an attacking spear, it is full of anger,
24 not a powerful spear, but the pains of frustration.
There are weapons, master of poetic materials,
firmly planted in his heart.
Ten years ago today
28 Dafydd said, worthy his song,
that there were in him a hundred, maybe,
weapons, metal blows,
arrows, angry obstructions of the mind,
32 and he was agitated throughout.
He was suffering from a strong feebleness,
according to men, because of that pain.
But it was a pack of lies, the treacherous poet,
36 that Dafydd the flatterer declaimed.
If it were Arthur, defender like a huge pillar,
who attacked a warband,
it is true, if all of the spears
40 were present in a hundred injuries,
his battles were wild,
the truth is he wouldn't live a month,
let alone, the fine lad is thin and pale,
44 love's servant, he's a weak one.
If a Welshman from Anglesey stabbed him hard
with a spear - isn't it woe to him? -
with his fair hand on the shaft of his spear,
48 under his broken chest,
woe to me if he should live for one long hour of the morning,
his appearance is pitiful;
let alone mentioning, unlovely sense,
52 fainting because of many spears.
His protestations are the death of him,
his constitution was killed by weapons.
My belief, the witty, wise lad,
56 is that although he is boastful, wonderful and excellent,
a wise man from another land could cause
a plaint with a reed spear and steadfast treachery.
He is afraid, before the sombre judgement,
60 of death by Morfudd's weapons.