[“I’ll bet a guinea that however clever a fellow you may be, you never sang anything in praise of your landlord’s housekeeping equal to what Dafydd Nanmor sang in praise of that of Ryce of Twyn four hundred years ago.”]

For Ryce if hundred thousands plough’d,
The lands around his fair abode;
Did vines of thousand vineyards bleed,
Still corn and wine great Ryce would need;
If all the earth had bread’s sweet savour,
And water all had cyder’s flavour,
Three roaring feasts in Ryce’s hall
Would swallow earth and ocean all.