[? _paying_] my share. Did you not hear me say that I would give a quart
of ale to see a poet?'

"'A poet's face,' said the man in grey, 'should be common to all, even
like that of the sun. He is no true poet, who would keep his face from
the world.'

"'But,' said I, 'the sun frequently hides his head from the world, behind
a cloud.'

"'Not so,' said the man in grey. 'The sun does not hide his face, it is
the cloud that hides it. The sun is always glad enough to be seen, and
so is the poet. If both are occasionally hid, trust me it is no fault of
theirs. Bear that in mind; and now pray take up your money.'

"'That man is a gentleman,' thought I to myself, 'whether poet or not;
but I really believe him to be a poet; were he not he could hardly talk
in the manner I have just heard him.'

"The man in grey now filled my glass, his own and that of his companion.
The latter emptied his in a minute, not forgetting first to say 'the best
prydydd in all the world!' The man in grey was also not slow to empty
his own. The jug now passed rapidly between my two friends, for the poet
seemed determined to have his full share of the beverage. I allowed the
ale in my glass to remain untasted, and began to talk about the bards,
and to quote from their works. I soon found that the man in grey knew
quite as much of the old bards and their works as myself. In one
instance he convicted me of a mistake.

"I had quoted those remarkable lines in which an old bard, doubtless