Poor Wil's in Ruthin Gaol,
Dejected and depressed,
His net and gun are lying
Redundant in a chest;
Pheasant now can wander
The Squire's lush estate,
And rabbits freely scamper
In feilds from morn til late.

Poor Wil's in Ruthin Gaol,

His wife nor children care.
The only one exception
Is Flash the whippet there,
Who's like a faithful pilgrim
In search of peace and grace,
Whose God is at a distance
And cannot see his face.

In last night's quiet woodland
The moon was under sail.
A saw eyes bright and beady
The flash of fluffy tail.
I thought I heard some voices

Like rivers in that dell,

All thanking their Creator
That Wil's locked in a cell.

by I D Hooson (freely translated)