Words
Rwy’n ddeg ar hugain oed
Ac arna i chwant priodi
Geneth ysgafn droed
Fel Gwenno Penygelli
Mae ganddi ddillad crand
A mae hi’n eneth bropor
A deg punt yn y banc
Ar ôl ei modryb Gaenor.
Mae gen i het Jim Cro
Yn barod i fy siwrne
A ‘sgidie o groen llo
A gwisg o frethyn cartre’
Mae gen i dy yn llawn
Yn barod i’w chroesawu
A phedair tas o fawn
A dillad ar fy ngwely.
Mae gen i ddafad ddu
Yn pori ar Eryri
Chwiaden, cath a chi
A gwartheg lond y beudy
Mi fedraf dasu a thoi
A chanu, a dal yr arad
A gweithio heb ymdroi
A thorri gwrych yn wastad.
Roedd yno bwdin pys
A hwnnw ar hanner berwi
Y cwc wedi torri’i bys
A cholli’r cadach llestri
Cig y maharen du
Yn wydyn yn ‘i gymale
Potes maip yn gry’
A chloben o baste ‘fale.
Translation
I am thirty years old
And I can’t wait to marry
A light footed maiden
Like Gwenno Penygelli.
She has grand clothes
And she is an upstanding maiden
And ten pounds in the bank
After her aunt Gaynor.
I have a Jim Crow hat
Ready for my journey
And shoes of calf skin
And home spun clothes
I have a full house
Ready to welcome her
And four piles of peat
And bedding on my bed.
I have a black sheep
Browsing on Snowdonia
A duck, a cat and a dog
And cattle filling the shed
I can bundle and thatch
And sing, and pull the plough
And work without turning back
And cut hay flat.
There was a pease pudding here
And that on half boil
The cook has cut his finger
And lost the dish cloth.
Meat of the black ram
A deer in its joint
A pot of strong turnip
And a big apple pasty.