Morfudd's Mockery

	Good Morfudd, elegant with cheeks of cinnabar,

	as bright as snow, girl of best breeding,

	immaculate maid with high forehead,

4	to the world's dismay you carry the ball.

	You're twice as good, girl, for being honoured,

	praise's handmaid, tell me,

	inspiration of poetry, shining gold mistress of the land,

8	golden-headed lady, is it true that you

	did say that you would not want, girl,

	cold play, a man with a tonsure?

	Oh God, why, moon of perfect oath,

12	did you make that declaration?

	If [you] refuse, serious disrespect to the faith,

	(it was an act of pride) a man of religion

	for the sake of jewels, gold and enamel,

16	for yourself, my girl of shining forehead,

	I am still willing, girl,

	to [be with] you beneath a green birch grove.

	If that talk about my shining tonsure

20	was contempt, hue of summer's sparkling height,

	my treasure, or an insult to me,

	generous Morfudd, girl of blackberry brow,

	too harshly, my noble girl,

24	did you make mockery this time.

	A curse on me, my splendid girl,

	sparkling early course of May's sun,

	if I ever saw anyone

28	golden pledge, make mockery

	who was not then, so they tell me,

	I testify to an insult, mocked herself.

	Because of this, plight of binding sickness,

32	I am in pain, Morfudd, renowned jewel.

	Shining sun, circlet of sea-water,

	twice the brightness of sunshine, you ought not,

	famous radiant zest, pure white flesh,

36	to cast any ready mockery,

	wondrous sheen, finest language,

	at your blissful bard as long as you live.

	The mockery does not fit, slender-browed girl,

40	lively generous Morfudd's poet,

	even though his hair, imagining treachery,

	eight pangs, has fallen out because of love for you.

	Your faultless Ovid will never be,

44	nor was I ever a novice any month of May;

	I never wore, I avoided indignation,

	either a cowl for a fine head or a habit;

	I never learned, dealing with it is sheer oppression,

48	A word of Latin on fine parchment.

	My beard is not grey, splendid implement,

	my tonsure is no bigger, nor any less,

	than on the night when we, dear jewel,

52	our pang, made love.

	You went – what trouble and what an exploit –

	to your bed, countenance of eight fine lamps,

	with your arms, hue of summer flowers,

56	jewel of all girls, around me,

	and I, my beloved gem,

	making love to you, modest black-browed girl;

	but it is forbidden, happy song,

60	entirely true, to make it known.

	A wonderful hour, wealth of solid gold,

	despite this, girl, my silent maid,

	say, my girl, and choose

64	which you will do, sun of the month of May:

	either be true, long-lasting strength,

	in undenied love for me,

	or else tell me, my girl,

68	that you will not be, desirable face.

	If you regret making love to me,

	in such a way as it was,

	you can have a share as long as the secret is kept,

72	love God again, fare thee well,

	and do not say, my beloved girl,

	a bitter word about a man with a tonsure.