I told him I did not know, and remarked that it was very odd that he could not tell me the name of a stream in his own vale.

He replied that it was not a bit more odd than that I could not tell him the name of the eldest daughter of the Queen of England: I told him that when I was in Wales I wanted to talk about Welsh matters, and he told me that when he was with English he wanted to talk about English matters.

I returned to the subject of Rhys Goch and his chair, and he returned to the subject of Her Majesty's ministers, and the fine folks of London.

I told him that I cared not a straw about Her Majesty's ministers and the fine folks of London, and he replied that he cared not a straw for Rhys Goch, his chair or old women's stories of any kind.
Regularly incensed against the old fellow, I told him he was a bad Welshman, and he retorted by saying I was a bad Englishman.

I said he appeared to know next to nothing.