Scene: The Welsh Hills near Criccieth. A vast concourse of people, Druids and Burghers among them. Flourish of trumpets. Enter King David, attended by Alfred, Knight of Swansea, and Riddell of Walton Heath.
The Knight of Swansea: Gif me your attentions, I pray you, and mark vell dese vorts. Ve Velshman haf great traditions. Ve are proud and ancient peoples. Some tink perhaps ve shows too much ze pride of race, yes? Ze fierce Celtic patriotism? But ve are chustly proud to tink ourself descendant of Cadvallader, cradle of Tudors, and fine stocks of Owen Clendower, look you—Mark den vat vorts our leader shall tell you and observe dese rulings. (He withdraws a pace.)
First Druid:
Methinks his words, though seasoned with good sense
And aptly illustrative of our merits,
Bewray a foreign origin.
Second Druid:
Why, sir,
The man’s as good a Welshman as e’er breathed!
His pedigree I’ll tell you in brief space,