LLEWELLYN.


I.--_In the Porch._

MORGAN _and a_ MONK.


MORGAN.

The tale is pitiful. 'Twas on this wise--
Llewellyn went at morn among the hills,
To hunt, as is his use. My lady, too,
With all her maidens, early sallied forth,
A pilgrimage among the neighbouring vales,
Culling of simples, nor yet comes she home;
And so the child lay sleeping in his crib,
With Gelert--you remember the old hound?
He pull'd the stag of ten down by the Holy Well--
With Gelert set to watch him like a nurse.

MONK.

The dog alone? nay! friend, but that is strange!

MORGAN.

Strange! Not a whit, for fifty times before
The hound hath kept him like his own bred whelp,