As some tall oke, hewn from the mountayne hed,
Falls to the pleine, so fell the warriour ded.
Wrth weled hyn, medd y bardd, dyma Gymro arall, "Mervyn ap Teudor," a ganlynasai Howel o gariad ato, yn rhuthro ar y gelynion "fel blaidd mynydd." Disgrifir ei wisg a'i olwg a'i aruthr ffyrnigrwydd:
His sworde was shorte and broade, and mickle keene,
And no man's bone could stande to stoppe its waie;
The Norman's harte in partes two cutt cleane,
He clos'd his eyne, and clos'd his eyne for aie.
Ymesyd Mervyn ar elyn arall:
With thilk a furie on him he dyd falle,
Into his neck he ranne the swerde and hylte;
As mighty lyghtenynge often has been founde
To drive an oke into unfallow'd grounde.
And with the swerde, that in his neck yet stoke,
The Norman fell unto the bloudie grounde,
And with the fall ap Tewdore's swerde he broke,
And bloude afresh came trickling from the wounde.
Naid cryn ugain o'r gelynion ar ap Tudur, a rhaid iddo yntau ymladd â'i ddwylaw moelion. Try helm y Sier de Lacque y tu blaen yn ôl, ac ymeifl mewn Norman arall gerfydd ei wddf, ond:
