“Well,” said I, “he told me he did within the last two hours. I met him at Dyffrin Gaint, along with another man, and he took me into the public-house, where we had a deal of discourse.”
“You met my master at Dyffryn Gaint?” said the damsel.
“Yes,” said I, “and he treated me with ale, told me that he was a poet, and that he was going to Bangor to buy a horse or a pig.”
“I don’t see how that could be, sir,” said the damsel; “my master is at present in the house, rather unwell, and has not been out for the last three days—there must be some mistake.”
“Mistake,” said I. “Isn’t this the --- Arms?”
“Yes, sir, it is.”
“And isn’t your master’s name W---?”
“No, sir, my master’s name is H---, and a more respectable man—”
“Well,” said I interrupting her—“all I can say is that I met a man in Dyffryn Gaint, who treated me with ale, told me that his name was W---, that he was a prydydd and kept the --- Arms at L---.”
“Well,” said the damsel, “now I remember, there is a person of that name in L---, and he also keeps a house which he calls the --- Arms, but it is only a public-house.”