The Comical Adventures of Twm Shon Catty Part 13

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!

His listeners appreciated his first song so much that all his copies were soon disposed of; so he selected another, before singing which he said: "Now this, my friends, is about a Welsh boy, who was so foolish as to leave old Cymry and go to London, from which place, I warrant you, he would have been glad enough to return, as they have neither leeks, cheese, nor 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 ardent delight!

Ah, who then so cheerful, so happy as me, As I skipp'd through the woodlands and meads of Brandee?

How oft have I wander'd through swamp, hedge, or brake, While 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 Brandee.

Whenever I wander'd to some neighb'ring farm, How kindly was tendered the new milk so warm, O'er her best loaf as b.u.t.ter-or-honey she'd spread, The farm wife so friendly would stroke my white head, And sure that she shortly again would see me Whenever my rambles led forth from Brandee.

How oft have I run with my strawberry wreath To rosy young Gwenny of fair Llwyn-y-neath, And help'd her to drive the white sheep to the pen!

Oh! still I think how joyously sung little Gwen!

The old folks, oft chuckling, vow'd sweet-hearts were we, Then Llwyn-y-neath maiden and boy of Brandee.

At the fair of Devynnock, o'ertaken by night, Returning, I've dreaded the corpse-candle light, The wandering spirit, the hobgoblin 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 Brandee.

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 Brandee!

This did not take so well as the first, but Twm, now thoroughly interested in his new vocation, commenced a fresh ditty, which he announced as a sequel to the last.

ROSY GWEN.

Rosy Gwen, Rosy Gwen, Beloved of maids, beloved of men: Aye, dearly loved of grave and gay, In youth's early day-ah, what cheer'd me then?

'Twas her voice so sweet, Her person neat, Her form so sleek, Her spirit meek, And the cherry-merry cheek of Rosy Gwen.

Gentle girl, gentle girl, Coral lipp'd, with teeth of pearl, On either cheek a vivid rose, And raven tresses graced thy brows!

Ah, thou wert my love and playmate then!

Happy la.s.s of smiles, Unvers'd in wiles, Of guileless breast- Of minds the best.

Oh my merry-cheek'd young Rosy Gwen!

Years have flown, years have flown, And Gwenny thour't a woman grown, While Time, that bears for most a sting, Has fann'd thy beauties with his wing; Yet brighter thou canst not be than when O'er the mountain steep Thou drov'st thy sheep, And sang in glee A child with me, Oh my cheery-merry-cheek'd young Rosy Gwen.

As the last was but tolerated, the singer soon found that a merry strain was most congenial to their fancies. He therefore gave them the old and popular duet of "Hob y deri dando," rendered more comical by his singing alternately shrill and gruff, for male and female's parts.

HOB Y DERI DANDO. {153}

_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_. Thus may the frowns of life pa.s.s 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!

_Ivor_. The rain is past, the clouds are gone too, Hob y deri dando, far they spread;

_Gweno_. The lark is up, and bright the sun too, Hob y deri dando, on the mead!

He sang the last three tunes, and sold a dozen copies; but just as he was going to favour his audience with _Nos Galan_, the malignant face of Parson Evans presented itself before him.

As our hero wore petticoats, many gallant swains offered their treats of cake and ale, some of which was accepted; and presuming on that circ.u.mstance, they amusingly put in their claims to further notice, and seemed inclined to quarrel, as for a sweetheart.

With this phalanx of protectors, beaus, and chaperons, 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 pa.s.sed, "he is a b.u.mbailiff, 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 had loved me ever so much I would not have had him, if his old yellow skin was stuffed with diamonds. The villainous old catchpole! it was owing to refusing him for a sweetheart, that 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 streets."

Here, a.s.suming a whimpering tone, Twm was compelled to smother a fit of laughter, which emotion was taken for sobbing, and consequently drew much on the sympathy of those now addressed! but suddenly withdrawing the ap.r.o.n that veiled the 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 Caesar, was not more effective than our hero's appeal.

Every one of those swains manifested the usual 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 himself.

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 pa.s.sed along, one tripped up his heels, while the rest received him in the extended blanket, and proceeded to the work-like play of giving the Black Kite an airing; or as Ready Rosser, a cunning clod of the party, expressed it, playing the wind-instrument to the tune of the b.u.mbailiff's courante. The athletic employments of grasping the plough-handles, as they guided it through a stubborn soil, and the no less powerful exertions of wielding the axe, or hedge-bill, had their due effect in nerving the brawny arms of those youths of the farm and woodlands for this rough exercise.

Drawing the extended blanket as tight as a drumhead, with their united efforts, up they tossed, re-tossed, and received into what threatened to be his winding-sheet, the quivering and terribly-frightened body of the Rev. and very wors.h.i.+pful Inco Evans. Whatever it might be to the parson, (and we do not venture to a.s.sert that it was agreeable to him,) the spectator of this singular and unexpected entertainment could not but enjoy it for the comical revolutions of the right rev. gentleman were, to say the least of them, very mirth-inspiring. As he flew upward, all legs and wings, and descended in the same sprawling style, one compared him to a cat shot from a cannon; another to a staked toad tossed in the air; while the hapless victim of their frolic foamed at the mouth with rage, and uncouthly floundered in his attempt to grasp the blanket in his fall.

If for a moment he seized its edge, and shouted his threats of vengeance, a terrific b.u.mp against the stony street loosened his hold, and up he bounced, again like the rebounding ball, struck on the flag-stone by the eager hand of a merry schoolboy.

Wearied by their arduous labours, and tempted by the s.h.i.+ning handful of silver which the woe-begone parson eagerly offered as a conciliatory bribe, they at length desisted, each venting his jest on the crest-fallen Evans, "hoping it would be a warning not to prosecute again a poor friendless girl." Inco answered not; but finding himself unable to walk, he was carried to the Inn, where he remained some days before he was able to remount his horse.

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, where they had left our hero, between the empty carts of the ware vendors.

On their arrival at the place, they searched in vain for their enchantress, in whose service they had wrought so gallantly, but no traces of the fair one could they find. There was a general smelling of a trick put upon them, and consequent "curses on all jilting jades, and biting ballad-singers," uttered by the unlucky clods.

A brilliant idea suddenly struck Ready Rosser. He had taken off his coat and left it in the careful custody of the injured damsel. Where was she?

Could she have disappeared? All doubts were soon removed, for 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 as a similar token of affection; having inscribed with chalk on the side of the cart.-"An exchange is no robbery;" a motto in which our rustic could not see, in its present application, any principles of justice whatever.

CHAPTER XXII.

ESCAPE of Twm from Cardigan. Meets an old friend. The heiress of Maes-y-velin, a most tragical legendary ballad.

The addition to his wardrobe pleased Twm exactly, and he had no qualms of conscience to prevent him from using it, for he remembered how easily he had been despoiled of his own. Not being fastidious about a dressing-room, Twm retired to a stable, and soon came out fully clad in his male attire; of which a coat only was before wanting.

Bent on a precipitate retreat, as the urgency of his case demanded, he bolted down St. Mary's Street, and soon found himself on the turnpike road, with the good town of Cardigan some miles behind him. In little more than two hours he reached the small town of Dinas Emlyn, now called New-castle-in-Emlyn, on a romantic part of the Teivy, dividing the counties of Cardigan and Carmarthen, and occupying its banks on each side. Entering a small public-house, he regaled himself on the fine potent ale for which that place has been so long famous.

After addressing himself steadily for a good half hour to the pleasures of the table, he commenced a little private conversation with himself regarding his present and future prospects, and came to the conclusion that, on the whole, they were not worth much. Although the most serious cogitations on the subject might have availed little or nothing, chance very unexpectedly decided him, and relieved his apprehensions for the present.