_Ivor_. The summer storm is on the mountain,
Hob y deri dando, my sweet maid!
_Gweno_. And foul the stream, though bright the fountain,
Hob y deri dando, for the shade.
_Ivor_. Let my mantle love protect thee,
Gentle Gweno dear;
_Gweno_. Ivor kind will ne’er neglect me,
Faithful far and near:
_Both_. Through life the hue of first love true,
Will never never fade.
* * * * *
_Ivor_. The rain is past, the clouds are gone too,
Hob o’r deri dando, far they spread;
_Gweno_. The lark is up, and bright the sun too,
Hob o’r deri dando, on the mead;
_Ivor_. Thus may the frowns of life pass over,
Happy then our lot,
_Gweno_. And the smile of peace be bright as ever
In our humble cot.
_Both_. Through life the hue of first love true
Will never never fade.
Having sung the last thrice over, he sold about a dozen ballads; and was
about to treat his auditors with the old and national song of _Nôs
Galan_, or New Year’s Eve, when, to his great surprise, the malignant
visage of Parson Evans presented itself before him.
Judging of our hero’s sex by his assumed attire, several young men in the
course of the day, offered their treats of cake and ale, some of which
was accepted; and presuming on that circumstance, they amusingly put in
their claims to further notice, and seemed inclined to quarrel, as for a
sweetheart.
Thus possessed of beaux and champions, Twm resolved to employ them in a
new scheme of vengeance on the unpopular parson. “You see that old
fellow in black,” said he, directing their attention to him as he passed,
“he is a bum-bailiff, and the greatest villain in all the country I come
from; and at this very moment I’ll be bound for it, he is hunting out
some poor fellow to put him in prison. He wanted to be a lover of mine,
but only intended to ruinate me; but if he loved me ever so much I would
not have had him if his skin was stuffed with diamonds. The villainous
old catchpole! it is to him that I owe all my misfortunes; refusing him
for a sweetheart, he grew as spiteful as a snake, and by telling a parcel
of falsehoods he got me turned out of my place without a character, so
that I am now brought to this—to sing ballads in the street.” Here,
assuming a whimpering tone, Twm was compelled to smother a powerful fit
of laughter, which emotion was taken for sobbing, and consequently drew
much on the sympathy of those now addressed; but suddenly withdrawing the
apron that veiled his features, he exclaimed, with the vehemence of a
young termagant, “I’d give the world to see that old fellow tossed in a
blanket!” Mark Antony’s effort of eloquence to rouse the Roman citizens
to avenge the death of Cæsar, was not more effective than our hero’s
appeal.
With a natural hatred to a bailiff, and as natural a predilection for the
smiles of a handsome young woman, being “full of distempering draughts”
and ripe for a freak, their zeal became inflamed to a ferment, each felt
himself the leading hero to avenge the wrongs of the fair ballad singer,
in the manner suggested by herself. One of the young men, a native of
the town and son to the innkeeper, immediately procured a blanket, when,
watching their opportunity as the supposed bailiff passed along, one
tripped up his heels, while the rest received him in the extended
blanket, and tossed him most vigorously in the air for about ten minutes.
Exhausted at length with their labours, and allured by the fair handful
of silver displayed by their victim, they accepted his bribe and
desisted, each venting his jest on the crest-fallen Evans, “hoping it
would be a warning not to persecute a poor friendless girl again.”
The knot of swains now separated, and ran in different directions to
avoid being recognized as the perpetrators of the “freak,” but soon met
again at an appointed place at the back of the town, where they had left
our hero, between the empty carts of the ware venders.
Great was their dismay on discovering, after a long search in various
parts of the fair, that the fair ballad-singer was no where to be found.
Here was a general smelling of a trick put upon them, and consequent
“curses on all jilting ballad-singers” uttered by the unlucky clods.
It occurred to one bright youth named Johnny Wapstraw, that he had
entrusted his best holiday coat to the custody of the injured damsel,
that he might toss the “catchpole” with the greater vigour; but on
ascertaining the precise spot where he had left her, he found her
complete feminine attire made into a bundle and fastened to a cart with a
band of straw, left as a love-gift for him, while she kept his coat as a
similar token of affection; having inscribed with chalk on the side of
the cart “An exchange is no robbery.”