No sheep on the mountain nor boat on the lake
|
No coin in my coffer to keep me awake
|
Nor corn in my garner, nor fruit on my tree,
|
Yet the Maid of Llanwellyn smiles sweetly on me.
|
|
No sheep on the mountain nor goats,
|
No horses to offer nor boats,
|
Only hens I have by me,
|
they are one, two and three,
|
Yet the Maid of Llanwellyn smiles sweetly on me.
|
|
Rich Owen will tell you, with eyes full of scorn,
|
Threadbare is my coat and my hosen are torn.
|
Scoff on, my rich Owen,
|
for faint is thy glee
|
When the Maid of Llanwellyn smiles sweetly on me.
|
|
CHORUS
|
|
The farmer rides proudly to market and fair
|
Whilst the clerk at the ale house still claims the great chair,
|
But of all our proud fellows, oh the proudest I'll be,
|
When the Maid of Llanwellyn smiles sweetly on me.
|
|
-----------------
|
The Maid Of LLanwellyn
|
Kate Rusby |