misbehavingmaiar:

Oldest Welsh Lullaby: Pais Dinogad –Ffynnon, Lynne Denman

“Pais Dinogad, fraith, fraith;
O grwyn balaod ban wraith.
Chwid! chwid! Chwidogaith,
Gochanwn, gochenyn wythgaith.
…saithhgeith
…chwechgeith
…pimpgeith
…tairgeith  
…daugeith
…ungeith

Un, dau, tri, petuar, pimp, chwech, saith, wyth.

Yan, tan, tether, pedder, pimp, sether, hither, hother.*

Pan elei dy dat ty e helya; llath ar y ysgwyd llory eny law. Ef gelwi gwn gogyhwc. Giff! Gaff! Dhaly! Dhaly! Dhwg! Dhwg!
Ef lledi bysc yng corwc. Mal ban llad. Llew llywywg. Pan elei dy dat ty e vynyd. Dydygai ef penn ywrch penn gwythwch pen hyd. Penn grugyar vreith o venyd. Penn pysc o rayadyr derwennyd. Or sawl yt gyrhaedei dy dat ty ae gicwein o wythwch a llewyn a llwyuein. Nyt anghei oll ny uei oradein.”
-x

*The first count of eight, as well as the number of slaves, or ”ones in chains”, is in Old Welsh. The second (yan, tan, tethera, methera, etc.)  is one of the variations of Cumbrian sheep-counting numerals.

“Dinogad’s shift is speckled, speckled;
It was made from the pelts of martens.
`Wheet! Wheet! a-whistling,
I would sing, sang the eight in chains. 
(….seven, six, five, four, three, two, one in chains…)

When your father went out to hunt –
A spear on his shoulder, a club in his hand –
He called on his lively dogs,
`Giff! Gaff! Take, take! Fetch, fetch!’
He killed fish from his coracle
Like the lion killing small animals.
When your father went to the mountains
He would bring back a roebuck, a boar, a stag,
A speckled grouse from the mountain,
And a fish from the Derwennydd falls.
At whatever your father aimed his spear –
Be it a boar, a wild cat, or a fox –
None would escape but that had strong wings.”  
x

Reblogging with a better transcription and notes! 

It took me a long time to figure out the series of numerals counting down the number of slaves/ones in chains, because the song is actually missing a numeral; it skips from “five in chains” to “three in chains”; there’s no “petuargeith”, or equivalent.  At least, I think so. I’m flying blind, I don’t speak Old Welsh. 

brightoncemore:

misbehavingmaiar:

Qui Veut Chasser Une Migraine; An Early French Drinking Song 
–Joel Frederiksen 

“Qui veut chasser une migraine
N’a qu’à boire toujours du bon
Et maintenir la table pleine
De cervelas et de jambon. 
L’eau ne fait rien que pourrir le poumon, 
Goûte, goûte, goûte, goûte compagnon! 
Vide-nous ce verre et nous le remplirons.”

“Whoever want to chase a headache
Has only to drink well
And keep the table laden
with sausages and ham;
Water does nothing but rot the lungs;
Taste, taste, taste, my friend!
Empty this glass and we will refill it.” –x

Ooh, I didn’t reblog this one yet!

W. D. Snodgrass’s eminently singable translation (found in Selected Translations, and I have to say he’s very good at these):

“Who wants to cure a migraine, let him
Drink up good wine and scuppernong.
Sausage and ham at table set him
And keep his pantry freshly hung.
Water’s no good, it only rots your lung.
Down it, down it, down it, flood it down your tongue;
Drain it off, good lads, we’ll brim it from the bung.

Wine that’s beloved by our good father,
Keeping him handsome, lithe, and young,
Makes us so wise we never bother
Studying, since we’re never wrong.
Water’s no good,…etc.

[verse 3 snipped because it’s not used in this recording]

Drain off your glass; let every kidney
Flow with a function fresh and strong.
Death to the man so vile and piddly
He’d slander those he drinks among.
Water’s no good,…etc.”

Oh my god, bless you for providing this translation, I was at my wit’s end trying to find the rest of these verses! 
(Google only gets one so far in the department of medieval chanson lyrics…) 

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