Quite right, Ab Gwilym; what wantest thou with Morfydd?
But another form is nigh at hand, that of red Reynard, who, seated upon his chine at the mouth of his cave, looks very composedly at thee; thou startest, bendest thy bow, thy cross-bow, intending to hit Reynard with the bolt just about the jaw; but the bow breaks, Reynard barks and disappears into his cave, which by thine own account reaches hell--and then thou ravest at the misfortune of thy bow, and the non-appearance of Morfydd, and abusest Reynard.

Go to, thou carest neither for thy bow nor for Morfydd, thou merely seekest an opportunity to speak of Reynard; and who has described him like thee?
the brute with the sharp shrill cry, the black reverse of melody, whose face sometimes wears a smile like the devil's in the Evangile.

But now thou art actually with Morfydd; yes, she has stolen from the dwelling of the Bwa Bach and has met thee beneath those rocks--she is actually with thee, Ab Gwilym; but she is not long with thee, for a storm comes on, and thunder shatters the rocks--Morfydd flees! Quite right, Ab Gwilym; thou hadst no need of her, a better theme for song is the voice of the Lord--the rock-shatterer--than the frail wife of the Bwa Bach.

Go to, Ab Gwilym, thou wast a wiser and a better man than thou wouldst fain have had people believe.
But enough of thee and thy songs! Those times passed rapidly; with Ab Gwilym in my hand, I was in the midst of enchanted ground, in which I experienced sensations akin to those I had felt of yore whilst spelling my way through the wonderful book--the delight of my childhood.

I say akin, for perhaps only once in our lives do we experience unmixed wonder and delight; and these I had already known..