Mr. Pegge, in a letter lately to Dr. Phillips, says that he has borrowed a MS. of Mr. Davies of Llanerch, which Mr. Pegge has now in his study; and which he says will be of good use to him. Pray what can it be? I have converted Mr. Pegge from the Camdenian faction; and we shall by and by see whether he is an ally of consequence. He is perfectly satisfied with my defence of Tyssilio; and wishes to see a translation of his book. Mr. Davies knows something of him I suppose.
I am glad your spitting of blood is over; take care, your life is precious, whether you have a fat living or no. Dont despair; some men of sense may take notice of you; though, even among the ancient Britons, canonization went seldom out of great families, as appears by Bonedd y Saint, which I have at last completed, as far as my materials reached. I now plainly see that the Llanerch MS. of Bonedd is but a fragment; for there is not a syllable of the Brychan family in it; and but very little of the Caw family. I have reduced the
whole into genealogical order; and they take but a very narrow compass. I shall have some difficulty in fixing the times of these saints; for there is some confusion among them, occasioned by the blunders of transcribers.
They have been all hunting after the Llanerch MS. of Bonedd, even Dr. Thomas Williams, and the Anglesea Man, as well as Thomas Wynne, and Thomas ab Llewelyn, &c., and have stumbled in the reading of it, as now plainly appears to me; and what, if I tell you, that you and I also have slipped in one place: I am sure we have.
I am tired now, and have no more to say, but I cough a little less than I did a week ago; and am likely to live till winter at least, unless some unforeseen accident happens. It will be a hard battle if I hold out all the winter. You are now in your bloom of body and spirit; do not lose a moment; you will be sorry if you do. God be with you, and keep you.
I am yours sincerely,
Lewis Morris.
Penbryn, July 4, 1760.
The same to the same.
Dear Sir,
It is a long while since I heard from you, and really I don’t know when; for my long and dangerous illness has eradicated all former transactions out of my memory, so that I have but a very faint idea of my former letters sent or received. From the beginning of November to this time, I have been struggling with death at his door; and in the very height of my fever, an accident by fire had likely to have destroyed me and mine. Such shocks are terrible, and enough to deface all correspondence. I am now beginning to be able to sit down to write a little, and but very little; for I am severely troubled with an asthma, which I suppose will finish me one day or other. Chwilio, chwilio a ffaelio cael eich llythyr diwaethaf mewn modd yn y byd. At the time when a pleuretic fever knocked me down, I was fitting up a new closet for my books and papers, and ever since everything has been in confusion, so that I am as long finding out a book or paper, as if I was in Mostyn Library.