Torfrith in a Tavern
I came to my choice town,
followed by my trustworthy pet hound.
Fine merry expense, an excellent place for dinner,
I took to a pretty dignified mead hall,
I was a fine young man,
and I had some mead.
I spotted a fair slender maid
in the house, my one fair sweetheart.
I set my mind entirely upon
my slender darling, colour of the rising sun,
I bought roast and expensive mead,
for me and the beauty over there.
Us young men love playing games,
I called the girl, a mead maid, to the bench,
and we had a very grand dinner,
greater than a wedding feast.
two alluring words.
After the obstacle was cleared,
With some more whispering,
we made an agreement!
To come to the lovely girl
when the crowds had gone
to sleep; she was a blonde browed beauty.
When everyone but me and the girl
had gone to sleep,
I tried most skillfully to make my way
to the girl’s bed, but.. it turned out disastrously.
I had a nasty fall making a commotion,
there was no good accomplishment..
I hurt my shin -
I didn’t jump high enough - above the ankle,
on the edge of a stupid oaken stool,
Left there by the inn-keeper.
I hit my forehead,
Where I ended up after my tumble,
utterly confused with my wild crashing
on the end of the long table,
where there was an empty basin now
and a noisy iron pan.
The table fell, a heavy piece,
and the two trestles and all the utensils.
The pan let out a clang,
which could be heard a long way from it.
The basin boomed and the dogs barked.
It’s easier to get up awkwardly
I came up
by thick walls where there were
three Riding men in one stinking bed
worrying about their three packs,
Éorlor and Ethelin and Eorack.
The blonde haired slobber-chops
hissed to the other two.
‘There’s a Snake, causing deceitful commotion,
roaming around here most cunningly;
he’s a thief, if we allow it,
watch out, keep clear of him’
The inn-keeper roused up all the host,
and it was a woeful tale.
Nine at a time they searched for me
scowling all around me,
whilst I, covered in painful bruises,
kept quiet in the darkness.
I begged, not in pitiful fashion,
in hiding, like one afraid,
and through the power of dear sincere hope,
and through the grace of Béma,
I got back without any gain to my own lair.
I escaped, I thank Béma for forgiveness.
An edited version of the poem 'Trafferth mewn Tafarn' by Dafydd ap Gwilym