Like all good things--this could not last,
And _Saxon_ gents, as friends, were ask’d,
Our Pictish foes to drive them past
The wall:--then home to seek,
Instead of home, the cunning chaps
Resolv’d to stop and dish the APs,
Now here they are, and in their caps
To day they wear THE LEEK.
Yet tho’ our dads, they tumbled out,
And put each other to the rout,
We sons will push the bowl about;--
We’re here for fun or freak.
Let nought but joy within us dwell;
Let mirth and glee each bosom swell;
And bards, in days to come, shall tell,
How Welshmen love THE LEEK.
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