The Welch-man's Praise of Wales: OR, Shone ap Morgan's falling in Love with an English Lady in his Journey to London.  
 

I'S not come here to talk of Prute,  
From whence the Welsh does take hur Root;  
Nor tell long Pedigree of Prince Camber,  
Whose Lineage would fill full a Chamber;  
Nor sing the Deeds of old Saint Davy,  
The Ursip of which would fill a Navy.  
But hark ye me now, for a liddel Tales  
Shall make great deal to the Credit of Wales:  
For hur will tudge your Ears,  
With the Praise of hur Thirteen Seeres.  
And make you as Clad and Merry,  
As Fourteen Pot of Perry.   

'Tis true was wear him Shirkin-Frieze,  
But what is thate we have store of Sheize;  
And God is plenty of Coates-Milk,  
That sell him well will buy him Silk  
Enough, to make him fine to Quarrel,  
At Hereford Sizes in new Apparel,  
And get him as much green Melmet perhaps,  
Shall give it a Face to his Monmouth-Cap,  
But then the Ore of Lemster,  
By Cot is Uver a Sempster;  
That when he is Spun or Did,  
Yet match him with her third.   

Aull this the Backs now, let us tell ye  
Of some Provisions for the Belly;  
As Cid and Goat, and great Gotes Mother,  
And Runt and Cow and great Cows Uther:  
And once but taste on the Welsh Mutton,  
Your Engliss Seeps not worth a Button.  
And then for your Fisse, shall shoose it your Dish,  
Look but about and there's a Trout,  
A Salmon, Cor, or Chevin,  
Will feed you Six or Seven,  
As Taull Men as ea'er Swagger.  
With Welsh Club and long Dagger.   

But all this while was never think  
A word in praise of our Welsh Drink:  
Yet for aull that, is a Cup of Bragat,  
Aull England Seer may cast his Cap at.  
And what you say to Ale of Webley,  
Toudge him as well, you'll praise him Trebley;  
As well as Metheglin, or Cider, or Meath,  
Shall sake it your Dagger quite out o'the Seath.  
And Oat Cake of Guarthenion,  
With a goodly Leek or Onion,  
To give as sweet a relliss,  
As e'er did Harper Ellis.   

And yet is nothing now all this,  
If of our Musics we do miss;  
With Harp and Pipes too, and the Crowd,  
Must aull come in and talk aloud,  
As loud as Bangu, Davy's Bell,  
Of which is no doubt you have hear tell,  
As well as our louder Wrexam Organ,  
Or rumbling Rocks in the Seer of Glamorgan,  
Where look but in the Ground here,  
And you shall see a Sound there,  
That put her all together,  
Is sweet as Measure Pedder.    

Of Hur being in Love.  
A Modest Shentle when hur see,  
The great Laugh hur made on me,  
And fine Wink that hur send  
To hur, come to see hur Friend;  
Hur could not shoose, by Got apove,  
But was entangle in hur Love.  
A hundred a time hur was about  
To speak to hur, and leave hur out,  
But hur peing a Welsman born,  
And therefore was think hur would hur scorn  
Was fear, hur think nothing better,  
Than cram hur Love into a Letter,  
Hoping hur will no Ceptions take  
Unto hur Love for Country sake;  
For say hur be Welsman, what ten?  
Py God, they all be Shentlemen,  
Was descend from Shoves noun Line,  
Par Humane, and par Divine,  
And from Venus that fair Goddess,  
And Twenty other Shentlepoddies:  
Hector Stout, and comely Paris,  
Arthur Prute, and King of Fayris,  
Was hur noun Cousins, all a Kin,  
We have the Powel's Issue in;  
And for aught that hur can see,  
As good Men as other Men pee.  
But what of that? Love is a Knave,  
Was make hur do what he would have;  
Was compel hur write the Rhyme,  
That ne'er was Writ before the time;  
And if he will not pity hur Pain,  
As Got shudge hur Soul shall ne'er Write again;  
For Love is like an Ague Fit,  
Was brin poor Welsman out of hur Wit,  
Till by hur Answer hur do know,  
Whether hur do Love her, ay or no.  
Hur has not been in England long,  
And canno speak the Englis Tongue;  
Put hur is hur Friend, and so hur will prove,  
Pray a send hur word, if hur can Love.  
FINIS.   

LONDON, Printed, and are to be Sold by J. Raven in Searle's-Square, Lincoln's-Inn. MDCC. Price 2 d.