Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

Good Owen Williams of Tyn-y-bryn,
That is hard by Maes-y-Pandy,
Had a market-cart that was painted green,
And the best brown cob that ever was seen,
And the brown cob's name was Dandy.

Dandy the cob, he never was gay,
As he tugged the loads of lumber,
Yet he looked right plump and sleek that day,
For he'd had a pinch of corn to his hay,
—And yet thirteen, as I've heard men say,
Is a terrible luckless number.

And thirteen souls, both great and small,
With his wife and sister and cousin,

Good Owen Williams he treated them all,
And packed them in till (woe befall!)
There was one beside the dozen.

Now Dandy tugged right well at the trace
Till his wind grew something shorter;
And yet he looked in capital case,
For they'd combed his forelock down his face,
And dipped the comb in water.

Bless me! but it was a pretty sight
To see them fairly started,
With their hats so smooth and their frills so white,
A dozen blithe women in holiday plight,
Well-dressed and merry-hearted!

And Dandy had ne'er such a load before,
Tho' I trow he never went faster,
For a huge brown pitcher the green cart bore,
With baskets crammed with no sparing store
For the dozen beside the master.

And oh! but it was a noisy ride!
And I'll lay you a pound to a penny
They laughed till it echoed far and wide,
As they trotted o'er moor and mountain-side,
Down to the shore where the narrow tide
Comes washing up the Menai.

And good ten thousand were gathered there
To see the tunnel afloat,
And Stevenson the engineer,
With Claxton shouting his orders clear,
And slowly down to the foot of the pier
Steering the mighty boat.

Now Owen Williams had moored his craft
(To use the nautical diction)
On the side of the common, where they quaffed
From the huge brown pitcher, and roared and laughed;—
For in prosperity men are so daft
They never think of affliction.

The brown cob grazed on the close-cropt green:
In a pond behind were swimming
A flock of white geese, all ragged and lean,
Twelve and the gander:—Ill luck to thirteen
With a dozen to one of them women!

The shafts were propped up, and the day was warm,
And the beer was tapped right gladly:
And little they thought there was cause for alarm
In the flies that seemed to do no great harm
Save teazing Dandy sadly.

But to the wise man nothing is small,
As I shall show most clearly;

For who would have thought that a fly on the wall
Some twenty yards off, unseen by all,
Concerned them yet so nearly?

The tube had started without a hitch,
And the cheers uprose stupendous:—
When the fly on the wall flew over the ditch
To Dandy's nose, which began to itch
With an itching most tremendous.

He whisked his tail, and he shook his ears,
With a movement most impatient,
But all in vain are his kicks and rears,
Till at last with a steady course he steers
To where his cart is stationed.

Owen Williams he smacked his whip,
But Dandy's purpose was settled,
He marched to the shaft, and rubbed his lip
Up and down at the very tip
On the place the fly had nettled.

Never was luck to a dozen and one,
(To question the fact were idle,)
Dandy's object was quietly won,
And he lifted his head when the rubbing was done,
But the shaft was caught in the bridle.

Oh! for the screams when the cart uprose!
And verily, for that matter,

A dozen Welsh women, as every one knows,
(Or at least, if you don't, you may well suppose,)
Can kick up a pretty clatter.

Slowly up went the shafts in the sky,
And, to cut the story shorter,
Dandy lifted his head so high
That he tumbled the whole of the company
Heels over head in the water

Oh! for a Turner's mystic brush
To seize on the situation,
And weirdly picture the crash and crush,
And the geese, and the womankind, and slush,
And dismay, and consternation!

And Owen Williams, he vowed, I ween,
With a vow right strong and hearty,
That never again should he be seen
Making one of a fatal thirteen,
Be it ever so tempting a party!