Edifeirwch y Meddwyn

Ow! ow! meddai'r meddwyn
    i'm coryn mae cur.
Fydd debyg i frathiad,
    neu doriad â dur;
  Mi weriais fy arian
      'rwyn cwynfan bob cam,
  Mae hyn yn ddu gwmwl
      yn meddwl fy Mam.

    Mam, Mam, Ow! Ow!
    Mae hyn yn ddu gwmwl
        yn meddwl fy Mam!

Fy ngwddf sydd yn boethlyd,
    a chrinllyd a chras,
A'm safn yn llawn chwer'der
    gan flinder drwg flas;
  Dylaswn i wylio
      cyn llithro i ddrwg lam;
  Mae hyn yn ddu gwmwl
      yn meddwl fy Mam.

Fy nghylla waghawyd,
    ac anwyd a ge's, -
Nid oes yn fy nghorffyn i
    ronyn o wres;
  P'le bynag yr elwyf
      dyn ydwyf dan nam;
  Mae hyn yn ddu gwmwl
      yn meddwl fy Mam.

Pe cawn fenthyg chwechyn
    gan rhyw un yn rhwydd,
I'r dafarn cychwynwn,
    mi gerddwn o'r gŵydd;
  Cawn yno wir fwyniant
      mewn nwyfiant dinam,
  Er cymaint yw'r cwmwl
      sy'n meddwl fy Mam.

Pan derfyn y chwechyn
    rhaid cychwyn tor cas,
A minau yn gyndyn
    heb flewyn o flas,
  I fyned im llety
      'rwy'n penu paham,
  Oherwydd y cwmwl
      sy'n meddwl fy Mam.

Pe cawn help i godi
    o'm culni brwnt cas,
A chymorth i ofyn
    am ronyn o ras,
  A gado ffol nwyfiant,
      er cymaint fu'n cam,
  Fe gilaiai'r du cwmwl
      sy'n meddwl fy Mam.

"Oh! oh!" says the drunkard
    there is an ache in my head.
It will be like a bite,
    or a cut with steel;
  I spent my money
      I am complaining every step,
  This is a black cloud
      in the thought of my Mother.

    Mother, Mother, Oh!, Oh!
    This is a black cloud
        in the thought of my Mother!

My throat is hot,
    and parched and rough,
And my mouth full of bitterness
    through the affliction of a bad taste;
  I ought to watch out
      before sliding to a bad place;
  This is a black cloud
      in the thought of my Mother.

My stomach was emptied,
    and a cold I got, -
There is not in my my body
    a grain of warmth;
  Wherever I go
      a man I am under a defect;
  This is a black cloud
      in the thought of my Mother.

If I got the loan of a sixpence
    from someone readily,
To the tavern I would start,
    I would walk from the presence;
  I would get there true enjoyment
      in faultless passion,
  Despite how great is the black cloud
      which is in the thought of my Mother.

When the sixpence is finished
    there is need to break a box,
And I stubborn
    without a whisker of taste,
  I go to my lodging
      I am wondering why,
  Because of the cloud
      which is in the thought of my Mother.

If I got help to rise
    from my detestable, filthy straits,
And assistance to ask
    for a grain of grace,
  And leave my foolish passion,
      despite how great was my mistake,
  Retreat would the black cloud
      which is in the thought of my Mother.