Gruffudd Gryg's Third Debate Poem

	Dafydd, don't you regret

	all the ill–feeling which has grown between us?

	A slander was made, powerful taunting,

4	by God, between you and me.

	You believed it, the audible false witness,

	it's a believing which the minstrels have heard about.

	Twice woe to me, from my imagination,

8	if I care that indignation has been caused.

	You think very highly of yourself,

	and your insults to me are even greater,

	and there was not much goodwill

12	to me in those powerful, grim and reckless poems.

	Your desire to contend with me for a bardic degree is obvious,

	I have plenty of grace,

	Let me not see the summer for my love

16	and win my girl if I retreat

	because of one poet, a dreadful wretch,

	one foot or even one inch in the world.

	Great is your talk of valiant deeds,

20	you said that you were a brave one.

	Choose, Dafydd, and tell me

	what it is you want, or just give it a rest:

	is it competition, great grimacing man,

24	for a degree, or open fighting?

	Is it a stubborn tug–of–war over fire

	which you want, you boastful black man?

	If you have sulked, or if you're in a bad temper,

28	if you're full of fuss, your lies are ridiculous,

	put here, world's wanderer,

	your dissatisfaction, you mad black man.

	There is a rent to be paid, I'm sure,

32	on your shabby holey headpiece;

	and competing with you before a tenfold crowd,

	[will bring] success [to me] because of your language.

	There is no one who doesn't know that I will be successful in physical strength

36	or in poem; I'm an innocent man.

	Let us come together, we're eager,

	with two wonderful sharp swords;

	the main name in learning, let us both prove

40	who is the man in battle, who is the best.

	Dafydd, if you dare to come

	with a narrow sword, if you insist on glory,

	let God decide between the two strengths,

44	come to the fray, you gimlet of song.

	The devil take, for evermore,

	the shameful heart which retreats.

	I judge that you are very bad, Dafydd,

48	for disappointing Dyddgu of her tryst.

	I am virtuous, I hate running away,

	and Gweirful is happy because of my wandering.

	Woe to Dyddgu, the intelligent and worthy girl,

52	but Gweirful is blessed: she knows nothing of failings.

	I am a mighty lion, you're a calf,

	I'm the eagle's chick, you're a chicken,

	and I'm brave and fearsome,

56	and able and noble in battle,

	and I have a mouth for poetry,

	and they call me stammering and strong,

	and it makes no difference to me, great new vivacity,

60	ever after, what I do.

	If I strike blows without a truce

	with the tip of my sword to a man's teeth,

	very little by way of apology

64	will be had freely from me.

	Be sensible with that poem from your mouth,

	take care, I'm not Rhys Meigen.