destroy his pregnant sister into whose bed Satan enticed him; Ianto
Tybach says: "Give me a nice bit of haymaking weather, God bach. Strike
my brother Enoch dead and blind and see I have his fields without any
old bother. A champion am I in the religion and there's gifts I give the
preacher. Ask him. That's all. Amen."

Although we know God, we are afraid of to-morrow: one will steal our
seeds, a horse will perish, our wife will die and a servant woman will
have to be hired to the time that we find another wife, the Englishman
whom we defrauded in the market place will come and seek his rights.

We are what we have been made by our preachers and politicians, and thus
we remain. Among ourselves our repute is ill. Our villages and
countryside are populated with the children of cousins who have married
cousins and of women who have played the harlot with their brothers; and
no one loves his neighbor. Abroad we are distrusted and disdained. This
is said of us: "A Welshman's bond is as worthless as his word." We
traffic in prayers and hymns, and in the name of Jesus Christ, and we
display a spurious heart upon our breast. Our politicians, crafty pupils
of the preachers and now their masters, weep and moan in the public
places as if they were women in childbirth; in their souls they are
lustful and cruel and greedy. They have made themselves the slaves of
the wicked, and like asses their eyes are lifted no higher than the
golden carrot which is their reward from the wicked. Not of one of us it
can be said: "He is a great man," or "He is a good man," or "He is an
honest man."

Maybe the living God will consider our want of knowledge and act
mercifully toward us.