LXXXII.
I could wish to have been the first to shed my blood in Cattraeth,
As the price [186a] of the mead and beverage of wine in the hall;
I could wish to have been hurt by the blade of the sword,
Ere he was slain on the green plain of Uphin. [186b]
I loved the son of renown, who sustained the bloody fight, [186c]
And made his sword descend upon the violent.
Can a tale of valour be related before Gododin,
In which the son of Ceidiaw [186d] has not his fame as a man of war?