C. K.
Resembling that old woman
That never could be quiet,
Though victuals (says the child’s song)
And drink formed all her diet,
My love for plants and scrambling
Shared empire with my dinner;
And who says it wasn’t good must be
A most fastidious sinner.
T. H.
Now, all I’ve got to say is,
You can’t be better treated.
Order pancakes, and you’ll find
They’re the best you ever eated;
If you scramble o’er the mountains,
You should bring an ordnance map;
I endorse all that previous gents
Have said about the tap.
T. T.
Penygwryd, when wet and worn, has kept
A warm fireside for us;
Socks, boots, and never-mention-’ems,
Mrs. Owen still has dried for us;
With host and hostess, fare and bill,
So pleased we are that, going,
We feel, for all their kindness,
’Tis we, not they, are Owin’.
T. H., T. T., C. K.
Nos tres in uno juncti
Hos fecimus versiculos,
Tomas piscator pisces qui
Non cepi sed pisciculos,
Tomas sciagraphus sketches qui
Non feci sed ridiculos,
Herbarius Carolus montes qui
Nostravi perpendiculos.
T. H.