Celtic Historic Literature by Aneirin, translation by Joseph Clancy
Men went to Catraeth at dawn: their high spirits lessened their life-spans.
They drank mead, gold and sweet, ensnaring; for a year the minstrels were merry.
Red their swords, let the blades remain uncleansed, white shields and four-sided spearheads,
Before Mynyddawg Mwynfawr's men.
Men went to Catraeth at morn.
He made certain the shame of armies; they made sure that a bier was needed.
The most savage blades in Christendom, he contrived, no request for a truce,
A blood-path and death for his foeman.
When he was before Gododdin's band Neirthiad's deeds showed a hero's bold heart.
A man went to Catraeth at morn; he guzzled mead-suppers at midnight.
A disaster, keening of comrades, his campaign was, hot-blooded killer.
There marched on Catraethn no hero whose heart aimed so high at a feast; no man of such parts
Came from Eidin's fort: he drove the foe in flight, Tudfwlch Hit, out of house and homeland.
He slew Saxons at least once a week.
Long will his courage be cherished, kept in mind by his noble comrades.
When Tudfwlch was there, his people's strength, spearmen's ranks were slaughtered, Cilydd's son.
verses 14, 15 & 16