Once upon a time the poet came a-guesting to Bres' house, even Corpre son of Etaín, poet of the Tuath Dé. He entered a cabin narrow, black, dark, wherein there was neither fire nor furniture nor bed. Three small cakes, and they dry, were brought to him on a little dish. On the morrow he arose and he was not thankful. As he went across the garth he said:
- Without food quickly on a dish:
without a cow's milk whereon a calf grows:
without a man's abode under the (gloom) of night:
without paying a company of story-tellers, let that be Bres' condition.
So there is no amain in Bres, saith he. Now that was true. Nought save decay was on him from that hour. That is the first satire that was made in Ireland.