1
In comfort and in credit
By the side of Pen-y-vole
I liv’d;—all knew and said it,
None could my will controul;
Until a worthless lover
Did try my heart to move,
Ah soon my joys were over,
I listened to his love.
2
From far he travell’d to me,
Full many and many a night,
I thought he came to woo me,
My heart was all delight:
My cash he thought of gaining,
It was not me he sought,
E’er moaning and complaining
For clothes—and clothes I bought.
3
A pair of shoes I placed him
Between his soles and ground,
With stockings then I graced him,
With hat his head I crown’d;
Red garters then I bought him,
At fair the best I saw,
To bind his hose, od rot him!
Instead of bands of straw.
4
I bought him leather breeches
Strong as a barley sack,
And laid out half my riches
To clothe the beggar’s back:
I gave him money willing,
(Vexation now ubraids!)
With which the thankless villain
Soon treated other maids.
5
When thus he had bereft me
Of cash, and ah! my heart,
The cruel rover left me
It grieved me then to part:
Those clothes will rend in tatters,
They cannot last him long,
A curse attend such matters,
False lover’s curse is strong!
6
His coat will rend in creases,
His stockings break in holes,
His breeches go to pieces,
His shoes part from their soles:
His hair, like garden carrot,
Full soon will want a hat,
How soon, indeed I care not,
The devil care for that.
This pleased his auditors so well that he was soon left without a copy of
it, on which, he began another, preluding it with the observation “Now
this my friends is about a Welsh boy, who was so foolish as to leave old
Cymru and go to London, from which, I warrant you, he would have been
glad enough to return, as they have neither leeks, flummery, nor anything
else there fit for a christian people.”
When a wild rural Welsh boy I ran o’er the hills,
And sprang o’er the hedges, the gates, brooks, and rills.
The high oak I climb’d for the nest of the kite,
And plung’d in the river with lively delight!
Ah who then so cheerful, so happy as me,
At I skipp’d through the woodlands and meads of Brindee.
How oft have I wander’d through swamp, hedge, or brake,
Fearful of nought but the never-seen snake,
And gather’d brown nuts from the copses around,
While ev’ry bush echoed with harmony’s sound;
Oh gladness then thrill’d me! I bounded as free
As a hart o’er the lawn through the meads of Brindee.
Whenever I wander’d to some neighb’ring farm,
How kindly was tender’d the new milk so warm,
O’er her best loaf as butter or honey she’d spread,
The farm wife so friendly would stroke my white head,
And sue that she shortly again should see me
Whenever my rambles led forth from Brindee.
How of I have I run with my Strawberry wreath {136a}
To rosy young Gwenny of fair Llwyn-y-neath,
And help’d her to drive the white sheep to the pen, {136b}
Oh! I still think how joyously sung little Gwen
The old folks oft chuckling, vow’d sweet-hearts were we,
The Llwyn-y-neath maiden and boy of Brindee.
At the fair of Dyvonnock, o’ertaken by night,
Returning, I’ve dreaded the corpse-candle light,
The wandering spirit, the hobgobling fell,
Of which cottage hen-wives so fearfully tell:
I’ve ran, with my eyes shut, ghosts dreading to see
Prayed, whistled, or sang as I flew to Brindee.
Pleasure and innocence hand in hand went,
My deeds ever blameless, my heart e’er content,
Unknown to ambition, and free from all care,
A stranger to sorrow, remorse, or despair;
Oh bless’d were those days! long departed from me,
Far far’s my loved Cambria! far far is Brindee.
This was not so successful as the former, but Twm, nothing daunted, sung
the following which he called a sequel to the last.