Y ddeilen Indiaidd wiw

Y ddeilen Indiaidd wiw,
  Gwywedig yw ei gwawr,
Y boreu'n irlas iawn,
  Mor lwyd brydnawn ar lawr;
Mae'n dangos cnawd yn ail
  Ei sail i'r dail ar dir;
Wrth losgi Myglys meddwl, ddyn,
  Mai gwelltyn wyt mewn gwir.

Y bibell wen mewn bri,
  Ail lili yn dy law,
Sy'n dweyd mai d'oes a dỳr
  Ryw ddydd ar fyr a ddaw;
Mal hon pan gwrddir hi,
  Wan ddyn esgari'n ddau:
Wrth losgi Myglys meddwl hyn,
  O ddyn, sydd briddyn brau!

Golyga'r mŵg ar led,
  I fynu'r 'hed ar hynt,
Mae'n datgan i bob doeth,
  Yr â'i gyfoeth gyda'r gwynt;
Er maint sy ar dir a môr,
  O bob rhyw drysor drud,
Wrth losgi Myglys gwel mai tarth
  Sy 'mhob rhyw barth o'r byd.

Ti weli'r bibell wiw
  Yn duo'i lliw'n hell iawn,
Mae'n d'weyd fod d'enaid cu
  O'r llygredd du yn llawn;
Rhaid tynu hon drywy'r tân,
  Ni wneir hi'n lân gan wlych;
Wrth losgi Myglys, meddwl hyn,
  A thi yn soflyn sych.

The worthy Indian weed,
  Withered is its aspect,
In the morning very fresh and green,
  So brown in the afternoon on the ground;
It is showing flesh as equal in
  Its foundation to the foliage on land;
While burning Tobacco think, man,
  That a blade of grass thou art in truth.

The white pipe in renown,
  Like a lily in thy hand,
Which is saying that thy lifespan shall break
  Some day shortly to come;
Then when it is to be met,
  A weak man will separate into two:
While burning Tobacco thing this,
  O man, who art a fragile piece of clay.

View the smoke widely,
  Up it flies on a course,
It is telling to every wise one,
  His wealth will go with the wind;
Despite how much is on land and sea,
  Of every kind of costly treasure,
While burning Tobacco see that haze
  Is in every kind of part of the world.

Thou seest the worthy pipe
  It's colour blackening very foully,
It is saying that thy dear soul is
  Full of the black corruption;
There is need to pull this through the fire,
  It is not to be made clean by soaking;
While burning Tobacco, think this,
  And thou a dry piece of stubble.

This Indian weed now wither'd quite,
'Tho' green at noon, cut down at night,

            Shows thy decay;
            All flesh is hay.

      Thus think, and smoke tobacco.


The pipe so lily-like and weak,
Does thus thy mortal state bespeak.

            Thou art ev'n such,
            Gone with a touch.

      Thus think, and smoke tobacco.


And when the smoke ascends on high,
Then thou behold'st the vanity

            Of worldly stuff,
            Gone with a puff.

      Thus think, and smoke tobacco.


And when the pipe grows foul within,
Think on thy soul defil'd with sin;

            For then the fire,
            It does require.

      Thus think, and smoke tobacco.


And seest the ashes cast away;
Then to thyself thou mayest say

            That to the dust
            Return thou must.

      Thus think, and smoke tobacco.