A roddaid i neb yn un plygaint
A roed i Ferddin cyn no hena<e>int:
Saith afallen beireint a saith uga<e>int
Yn gyfoed, gyfux, gyhyd, gymmaint.
Trwy fron ‡trugaredd y tyfeddiant
Yn ddoled uxed ai gorthsaint,
Hoywedd ei henw, gloyw yn ei daint.

Afallen beren, bren y sydd fad,
Nid byxan dy lwyth sydd ffrwyth arnad;
A minnau wyf ofnawg amgelawg am danad
Rhag dyfod y coedwyr, coed gymmynnad,
I gladdu dy wraidd a llygru dy hád
Fal na thyfo byth afal arnad.
A minneu wyf gwyllt gorthryxiad,
Im cathredd cythrudd nim cydd dillad.
Neum rhoddes Gwenddoleu tlysau yn rhad
Ac yntau heddyw fal na buad.
[sideways, referring to this verse:]
This verse is right according to Mr Evans's Specimens.

Afallen beren, bren addfeinus
Gwasgadfod, glodfawr, buddfawr, brydus;
Ydd wnant bennaetheu gam gyfesgus
A myneix geuawg, bwydiawg, gwydïus;
A gweision ein ffraeth, bid arfaethus,
Ydd fyddant wyr rammant, rit rwyvanus.

Afallen beren, hydwf glas,
Plu fawr ei xangen ai xain wanas;
A mi disgoganaf cad am dias,
Pengwern ‡cyfedd grudd medd eu hadl<d>as.

Afallen beren a dyf yn llannerx,
Angerdd oi <ac> hargel ‡rhag rhieu Rhydderx;
<Y>Amsathr yn ei bon, masn yn ei xylx,
‡Oedd aeleu uddudd du<y>lloedd dihefeirx.
‡Mi ni'm car Gwenddydd ac nim hennyrx,
Wyf cas gan Wasawg, gwaesaf ‡Ryddyrx -
Ry ‡rewiniais i fab ef ai ferx.
Angeu a ddwg pawb - pa rag nam cyfeirx?
A gwedi Gwenddoleu neb rhiau nim peirx;
Nim gogawn gwarwy, nim gofwy ‡gordderx;
Ac yngwaith Arderydd ‡oedd aur fy ngorthorx,
Cyn bwy aelaw heddiw gan ‡eiliaw eleirx.

Afallen beren, bloda<e>u esplydd
A dyf yn argel yn argoedydd;
Xwedleu a gigleu yn nexreuddydd,
Ry sorri Gwassawg, gwaesaf men<u>uydd,
Dwywaith a theirgwaith, pedergwaith yn undydd.
Ox, Iesu, na ddyfu fy nihenydd
Cyn dyfod ar fy llaw llaith mab Gwenddydd.

Afallen beren, bren eil wyddfa,
Cwn coed cylx ei gwraidd digwascotwa;
A mi ddysgoganaf dyddaw etwa
Medrawd ac Arthur, modur tyrfa
Camlaun, Lannerthan difieu yna;
Namyn saith ni ddyraith or cymmanfa.
Edryxed Wenhwyfar wedi ei thraha,
Eglwysig bendefig ai tywysa.
Gwaeth i mi a dderfydd heb ysgorfa -
Lleas mab Gwenddydd, fy llaw ai gwna.

Avallen beren, beraf ei haeron
A dyf yn argel yn argoed Kelyddon,
Yn y ddel Kadwaladr i gynadl rhyd Rhëon,
Kynan yn erbyn, cychwyn ar Saeson.
Kymru a orvydd, kain vydde dragon,
Kaffant bawb ei deithi, llawn fi Brython;
Kaintor cyrn elwch, kathl heddwch a hinon.

No one was given in one dawn
What was given to Myrddin before he reached old age:
A hundred and forty-seven sweet apple-trees
Each one equal in age, height, length and size.
Along the king's slope they grow
A doled as high as their gorthsaint,
Their name elegant, their protuding branches sparkling.

Sweet and fair apple-tree,
The fruit upon you is no small load,
And I am fearful and anxious around you
Lest the foresters, tree-fellers, should come
To dig up your roots and harm your seed
So that no apple will ever grow upon you.
And I am wild in appearance,
To my cathredd distress, I have no clothes to hide me.
Gwenddolau gave me treasures generously
And today he is not as he was.
[sideways, referring to this verse:]
This verse is right according to Mr Evans's Specimens.

Sweet and slender apple-tree,
Serving as a cloak, praiseworthy, conferring blessings, fair;
Lords use you for an unworthy pretext,
And hollow, bwydiawg, corrupt monks;
And our saucy servants, they are wily,
They shall be to men an omen of a royal opportunity.

Sweet apple-tree, sturdy and verdant,
Its branches feather-like and its tree-trunk fine;
And I prophsey a battle for revenge
Companion[?s on the slope of Pengwern, mead their reward.]

Sweet-apple tree, growing in a glade,
Its peculiar gift hides it from Rhydderch's lords
A thronging at its trunk, trade around it,
They had an abundance of burrows without delay.
Gwenddydd does not love me and does not greet me,
I am hated by Gwasawg, Rhydderch's protector -
I killed his son and daughter.
Death takes everyone - why does it not greet me?
And after Gwenddolau, no lords respect me;
I am not mocked in jest, no lady-love seeks me;
And in the battle of Arfderydd my torque was golden,
Although I am dear today to one of the colour of a swan.

Sweet apple-tree with delicate flowers
Which grows hidden on the edge of the forest;
You heard stories at dawn
That Gwasawg, defender men<u>uydd became angry
Twice and thrice and four times in one day.
Alas, Jesus, that my death did not come
Before the blood of Gwenddydd's son was on my hands.

Sweet apple-tree, which is like a throne,
Wild dogs around its roots angrily protecting it;
And I prophesy the coming again
Of Medrawd and Arthur, the ruler of the multitude
Of Camlan to Lannerthan this Thursday;
Only seven returned from the meeting.
Let Gwenhwyfar look out after her insolence,
An ecclesiastical lord will escort her.
Worse will happen to me, without defence -
The death of Gwenddydd's son, it is my hand which will do it.

Sweet apple-tree, with the sweetest fruits
Which grows in a secret place in the Forest of Celyddon,
Until Cadwaladr will come to the conference of the ford of Rhëon,
Cynan opposing, setting upon the English;
The Welsh will be victorious, the dragon would be bright,
All will have their entitlement, the Briton will be complete,
The singer of the horns of jubilation will sing a song of peace and fair prospects.