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Wales PoetryThe Monarchy Of BritainSons of the Fair Isle! forget not the time, Ere spoilers h... My Father-land Land of the Cymry! thou art still, In rock and valley, str... The Hall Of Cynddylan The Hall of Cynddylan is gloomy to-night, I weep, for th... Woman Gentle Woman! thou most perfect Work of the Divine Arc... Glan Geirionydd . One time upon a summer day I saunter'd on the shor... From The Hymns Of The Rev William Williams, Pantycelyn he inherited from his ancestors, was born in the parish of... Song Of The Foster-son, Love I got a foster-son, whose name was Love, From one endu... The Poor Man's Grave 'Neath the yew tree's gloomy branches, Rears a mound ... The Golden Goblet, In Imitation Of Gothe There was a king in Mon, {62} A true lover to his grave; ... My Native Land My soul is sad, my spirit fails, And sickness in my he... The Day Of Judgment was a native of Anglesea, and entered the Welsh Church... The Grove Of Broom The girl of nobler loveliness Than countess decked in go... The Banks Of The Dee One morning in May, when soft breezes were blowing O'er... The Mountain Galloway My tried and trusty mountain steed, Of Aberteivi's hardy... Old Morgan And His Wife Hus.--Jane, tell me have you fed the pigs, Their cry is ... Song To Arvon by the Rev. Evan Evans, a Clergyman of the Church of Eng... The Swan Thou swan, upon the waters bright, In lime-hued vest, like... My Native Cot The white cot where I spent my youth Is on yon lofty mo... The Lament Op Llywarch Hen The bright hours return, and the blue sky is ringing ... The Battle Of Gwenystrad contemporary of Aneurin in the sixth century. He appe... |
Old Morgan And His WifeCategory: The Humorous. Hus.--Jane, tell me have you fed the pigs, Their cry is not so fine: And if you have not, don't delay, 'Tis nearly half-past nine. Wife.--There, now your noisy din begins, Ding, ding, and endless ding, I do believe your scolding voice Me to the grave will bring. H.--Were you to drop in there to-day, This day would end my sorrow. W.--But I shall not to please you, Mog, To-day, nor yet to-morrow. H.--Oh! were you, Jane, to leave this world, W.--And you to beg and borrow, H.--Stop, Jane, talk not so silly, Jane, W.--Not at your bidding, never; I'd talk as long as I thought fit, Were I to live for ever. H.--Your voice if raised a little more, Would rouse the very dead, A pretty noise, because I ask'd If you the pigs had fed. W.--I'll raise my voice, Mog, louder still, As sure as you were born, Why should you ask "How many loaves Came from the peck of corn?" H.--Should not the master of the house Know every undertaking? W.--And wear his wife's own crinoline, And try his hand at baking! H.--The breeches you would like to wear! W.--What vulgar jests you're making! H.--Stop Jane, stop Jane, don't speak so loud, Your noise will stun the cattle! W.--The only noise that could do that Is your continued rattle. H.--As sounds a bee upon her back, So does this wasp I've got, And all because I ask'd if she Had fed the pigs or not. W.--Your peevish growling, Mog, is worse, Yes, ten times worse and more, Still asking, "How this churning gave Less than the one before?" H.--You know the butter pays our rent, And many another matter. W.--I know that if the cows are starved They won't get any fatter! H.--I give the cows enough to eat. W.--Well do, and hold your clatter. H.--Stop Jane, stop Jane, confound your noise, 'Twould shame a barrel organ. W.--If I were half as loud as you, I think it would, Old Morgan! H.--Your temper, Jane, will drive me soon To share a soldier's lot, To march with gun and martial tune 'Midst powder, smoke, and shot. W.--What! you a soldier? never, Mog! Your heart is coward too, You'll fight with no one but with me, You've then enough to do! H.--I'll go and fight the mighty Czar, To aid the Turkish nation. W.--Then go, a greater Turk than you Breathes not within creation! H.--For shame, to call your husband Turk. W.--Such is my pledg'd relation. H.--Stop Jane, stop Jane, let's now shake hands And we'll be henceforth friends. W.--No, not till you have stopp'd will I, Be still, or make amends. Next: Song Of The Foster-son, Love Previous: Childe Harold
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