To Math, son of Mathonwy, I offer my praise,
O lord of the northland, lord of magics subtle
and mighty, bearer of the uncanny staff.
O Math of the agile wit, great of wisdom,
swift of thought, you know full well of courage
and of trickery, you know how a clever man
can find his way through thorn and bramble, wood and fen.
Bound by fate to a peace idle and still,
only ravaging war, the blood shed in battle,
could set your feet upon the sod; you know
the power behind the word. Math fab Mathonwy,
I call to you with reverence, I honor your name.

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