The Gifts of Dafydd, Madog and Iorwerth
A young girl sent
to Madog (love's enthroned [man])
love's furniture to his home,
4 a roof of fresh leaves, he well deserves it.
Madog thanks God
for receiving the circle from his generous girl.
He often wears the tops of trees,
8 it's daily on his head.
A garland of the same shape, skilled work,
is mine, not of long[-lasting] gold.
A bunch of birch, it was like a fetter,
12 and a girl gave it without [giving it] the name of a gift.
A branch's twigs (a weary man loves them)
woven from amongst the birds.
A thumb shaped it, birch of a glade,
16 a bud and inciter of love.
Iorwerth prefers something of equal value
to his poetry rather than a gift of wood.
A finger's covering, a beautiful circle
20 was given to him lest his hand should rust.
The slender maid made a collar,
she is generous, [and] gave her gold.
The man's need was small,
24 to wrap the whole finger of a rhymester.
Two feet (a good lad [who's] foreseeing and bold)
of healthy land (the words are good)
of this place (pain's love-web)
28 will Madog the author be ahead
of Iorwerth true of song, leader of a host,
and of everyone as regards loving a girl.
Madog does not want ([a man] with a voice skilled in metre)
32 a reward for his tongue's poetry
(he was generous) and he will not claim from her
either her gems or her gold, but rather herself.
And Mab y Cyriog in Anglesey
36 seeks them for a harmonious poem.
There is a great gap (love's poet)
between wealth and love.
A garland of twigs, even though his burden is not worth
40 any riches to him,
(worthy star of the birch trees)
it's worth a great deal to me.
The kiss of a very generous maiden-
44 God knows-it's good to have it;
through pledging it one would not gain
mead nor wine; lips nurture it.
It would be no more likely for an old pedleress
48 to buy it than [to buy] a reed.
This gift of a fair poet's green birch
is of the same kind.
He craves gold from a lord,
52 a splendid lad loves green and fresh birch.
Bearing passion, my brothers
are not of one mind, fair poets.
Iorwerth is a merchant of poetry and its praise
56 who sells his poetry.
And Madog, [the] wood's servant,
most pleasant man with Ovid's tears,
with a song equal to that of a young nightingale in a grove,
60 a friend to me, he loves.