Hanes y Wraig Felltigedig / The Accursed Wife
Alaw/Melody: ‘Billy O’Rourke is the Boy’ - Tradd./Trad.
Geiriau/Lyrics: Evan Davies ‘Ieuan ap Job’ Penydarran

Er bod flynyddoedd yn y byd heb ddynes clyd i’m cwyno
ac ysgwyd llaw pan awn mewn llid a chusan i’m cysuro
meddyliais gwell oedd cymryd gwraig fel roedd yn raid ar reol
pe byddai ‘mhen o dan rhyw glwy’ mi deimlwn fwy dymunol
a phenderfynais gyda hyn i garu’n dynn â dynes
I ddweud y gwir i chi ar lawr, ni wyddwn i fawr o’i hanes
gwirionedd yw rwy’n byw mewn aeth, mae hon y fath fileines

Pan oedd hi’n weddw hi oedd ddel, doedd neb fel Nel drwy’r pentra
roedd ganddi, gwn, a dweud ar goedd, rhyw gannoedd o gariada.
Priodais honno ar dydd Llun fel mae pob un yn gwybod
gwae i mi ‘rioed ei gweled hi, ‘rhen wiber ddigydwybod.
Ni choed hi ddim cyn deg o’r gloch i dendio’r moch a minna,
pan ddwedwn wrthi air o’r dde i’m gwyneb tê hi luchia
rwy’n hyll fy llun fel gŵyr pob dyn oherwydd un fel yna

Rwyf bron gwallgofi yn y fan, does neb mor anghalonnog,
pan ddêl y dydd i dderbyn tâl, rhaid iddi gael pobl ceiniog.
Pe bawn i’n ceisio chwech yn ol, hi ngalwai’n ffol a gwirion,
o ddrws y tŷ i ffwrdd ‘r â hi i barlwr y Red Leion,
ac yno gwariai ddau neu dri o sylltau er mwyn meddwi
gan smocio’n braf o’i chetyn du, mai’n fudr heb rifedi,
Rwy’n meddwl weithiau ar hyn o sen i fynd ar ‘mhen i foddi

Rwy’n gorfod taenu’m gwely gwael bob nos cyn cael fy swper
a gwneud pob dim drwy’r tŷ yn ddel er cadw Nel yn hawddgar.
Rwy’n cyna’r tân cyn mynd o’r tŷ bob bore fel mai’n peri
a gwneuthur brecwast i’r hen sot a lluchio’r pot a’r lleisi,
er hyn i gyd mai’n nhrin i’n gas a ‘nghloi i mas nosweithi,
chi allwch goelio’r ganiad hon, rwy’n aml bron a llwgu,
mai wedi ‘nhrin i’n ddigon drwg i’w rhoi mewn mŵg i’w mygu.

Chi fechgyn ieuanc glewion glân, rhai mawr a mân pob mannau
rwy’n rhoddi rybudd i chi ar goedd rhad dod ‘run modd a minnau,
Ro’n gynt yn wiw ac hardd fy lliw pan oni’n byw fy hunan,
ond nawr mae ‘nhrwyn bron cwrdd a’m gên drwy drallod yr hen dylluan.
Pe tai’r gŵr du yn mynd a hi a’i chrogi fry ar dderwen
mi fydda’n awr o Jiwbilî, rwy’n siwr i mi fy hunan
Ni wna i fyth ‘run ferch yn wraig, pe tai hi’n graig o arian.



 

Despite having spent many years in this world without a wife to attend to me
and to hold my hand when under stress and to give me a consoling kiss
I thought that I would better find myself a wife, as it is proper and expected,
for if I were feeling poorly, it would make me more content,
so I decided to start courting a woman closely,
to tell you folks the truth, I didn’t know much of her story,
truth be told I live in pain, she is such a malicious woman

when she was a maid she was beautiful, there was no one like Nel in the village
She had, as I’ve heard tell publicly, many hundreds of lovers.
I married her on a Monday, as everyone knows
woe to me for ever setting eyes on the unprincipled viper.
She doesn’t get up before ten o clock to tend to me and the pigs
and if I tell her a cross word she throws tea in my face.
it’s clear to everyone that my appearance is ugly because of one like her

I’ve almost gone mad here, no one is more heartless,
when payday comes, she must have every penny,
If I try and claim back a sixpence, she’ll call me stupid and foolish
she’ll walk away from the front door to the parlour of the Red Lion
and there she’ll spend two or three shillings in order to get drunk
and smoking freely from her black pipe, she’s dirty without measure.
I sometimes have sinful thoughts of going to drown myself.

I have to make my own sorry bed every night before supper
and make everything in the house neat and tidy to keep Nel in a good mood.
I light the fire every morning before leaving the house
and make the breakfast for the old sot, and throw out the chamber pots.
despite all this she treats me cruelly and throws me out at night,
you may believe me when I cry - I’m very often on the verge of starving.
she’s treated me so bad she should go choke in some smoke.

all you young pure lads, big and small of all places
I give you an open warning to not end up like myself.
I used to be happy and handsome when I lived alone
but now my nose is almost touching my chin for having suffered the old owl.
If the black hooded man were to take her and string her up on an oak tree
it would be an hour of jubilation, and I’m certain of this,
that I will never take a woman as my wife, even if she had a mountain of cash.