Chwi gewch yno roeso, 'rwy'n gwybod o'r hawsaf, A bara chaws ddigon, onide mi a ddigiaf, Caiff pawb eu hewyllys, dybacco, a phibelli, A diod hoff ryfedd, 'rwyf wedi ei phrofi. Gwel'd digrif gwmpeini wy'n garu'n rhagorol, Nid gwiw ini gofio bob amser ei gofol; Mae amser i gwyno mae amser i ganu, Gwir yw mae hen hanes a ddywed in' hyny. Cwpanau da fawrion a dynion difyrus, I mi sy'n rhyw olwg o'r hen amser hwylus; Ac nid wyf fi'n digio os gwaeddi wna rhywun, Yn nghornel y 'stafell, "A yfwch chwi, Styfyn?" Dydd da i chwi weithian, mae'n rhaid i mi deithio Dros fryniau, a broydd, a gwaunydd, dan gwyno; Gan stormydd tra awchus, a chan y glaw uchel, Caf lawer cernod, a chwithau'n y gornel." The above has been translated into English by one Mair Arfon as follows, and appeared in "Cymru Fu," Cardiff, August 9th, 1888:-- "Here's Stephen the Bidder! Good day to you all, To baby and daddy, old, young, great and small; Good friends if you like, in a warm poet's lay My message to you I'll deliver to-day. Some creature there is who roams the world through Working mischief to many and joy to a few, But conquering all, whether hell or above Be his home, I am not certain; his name though is love. The young he most frequently marks as his game, Strikes them straight through the heart with an unerring aim; Though the middle age, too, if he gets in his way, With his bow he will cover and bend to his sway. And sometimes the rogue with an aim somewhat absurd, Makes fools of old people. Indeed, I have heard Of one hapless wight, who, though over four score, He hit in the head, making one victim more. And this is the creature, who, when on his way Through the world, struck the couple in whose cause to-day, I ask for your help and your patronage, too; And they'll give you back when he comes to bite you. And now let each one of us struggle to keep The old custom up, so time-honoured and cheap; Of jointly, or singly, some small trifle giving, To start the young pair on their way to a living. They'll buy a few things, with a confidence clear, Of living in peace as their children they rear; Stealing and content, out of Mother Earth's hand, Blest as Cæsar of old, or the King of our land. I do not consider that riches or gold Ensure contentment; a wise man of old Tells us men in soft raiment of grief have their share, And a life without wants is the lightest to bear. Once a great English King [1] and his talented wife, Though they had meat in their pan, led a bickering life; Were the dullards compelled to work, him and her, With a hoe in their hands it would lessen their stir.