We can judge from the above incidents the kind of influence which the Saxons would be likely to exercise upon the Romanised Briton. Not that intemperance was a new plant of Saxon setting, for we have already found that the seed sown of Roman debauchery was beginning to yield the rank crop of excess in every grade of society. Ancient British poetry affords ample proof of this indictment. One of the most important fragments of ancient Cymric literature is _The Gododin_ of Aneurin, a poem of the sixth century, the first poem printed in the Welsh Archæology. It recounts a mighty patriotic struggle of the Britons under Mynyddawr with the Teutonic settlers in the district, which may be loosely described as lying between the Tees and Forth. The ever-recurring subject in this poem is the intoxication of the Britons from excessive drinking of mead before the battle fought at Cattraeth. A few quotations will suffice:-- The warriors marched to Cattraeth, full of words; Bright mead gave them pleasure, their bliss was their bane. * * * * * The warriors marched to Cattraeth, full of mead; Drunken, but firm in array; great the shame. * * * * * Just fate we deplore. For the sweetness of mead, In the day of our need, Is our bitterness; blunts all our arms for the strife; Is a friend to the lip and a foe to the life. * * * * * I drank the Mordei’s wine and mead, I drank, and now for that I bleed.[16] Unquestionable allusion to this poem of Aneurin is made in Owen Cyveilioc’s _Hîrlas_, written in the twelfth century:-- Hear how with their portion of mead, went with their Lord to Cattraeth, Faithful the purpose of their sharp weapons, The host of Mynydauc, to their fatal rest. To the sixth century are also to be referred the poems of Taliesin, which tell of the battles between the Britons and Saxons. One is preserved which is commonly called the _Mead Song_, which he wrote to obtain Elphin’s release from prison. It is thus rendered[17]:-- I will implore the Sovereign, Supreme in every region, The Being who supports the heavens, Lord of all space, The Being who made the waters, to every body good; The Being who sends every gift and prospers it, That Maelgwyn of Mona be inspired with mead, and cheer us with it From the mead horns--the foaming pure and shining liquor Which the bees provide, but do not enjoy. Mead distilled I praise--its eulogy is everywhere, Precious to the creature whom the earth maintains. God made it for man for his happiness; The fierce and the mute, both enjoy it. The Lord made both the wild and the gentle, And has given them clothing for ornament, And food and drink to last till judgment.