Dafydd ap Thomas from Glamorgan, walking over London Bridge, was accosted by a sage with a strong Welsh accent, asking him where he had cut his fine hazel staff. From the hill above the farm at home, Dafydd sad. 'Take me there are once', cried the seer, 'brysiwch, hurry, I will show you wonders!' So they travelled back along the drovers' route to South Wales and went to the hillside where the hazel trees grew, and there the wise man disclosed a hidden entrance in the ground, and in they crept, and in a great underground chamber they found a prince and all his warriors, sleeping all in armour beside their weapons. Disturbed by their approach the prince stirred, sprang to his feet with sword in hand and cried 'Does Wales need us? Has the day come?' 'Not yet', replied the sage, 'Sleep on, sleep on': and the two of them tiptoed away again along the tunnel to the secret door, and the prince returned to his rest.
Prodnose: How very boring.
Myself: Sleep on, sleep on.