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Ó, is ag teacht aniar ó Bhalla dhom dhá mhíle amach ón gClár, Cé a casadh orm ach cailín deas agus í ar a diallait ard, ‘An tusa bean an tseanduine?’ ‘Ó, is mé, mo chreach is mo chrá ’S dá mbeinnse bliain ’mo chónaí leis ní thabharfainn dhósan grá.’
‘Ó, brón ar mo mhuintir a phós mé chomh hóg, Ó, phós siad leis an seanduine mé mar gheall ar chúpla bó, Míle b’fhearr liom agam an buachaillín deas óg, A thiocfadh isteach ar maidin ’s a bhéarfadh dhomsa póg.’
‘Nach deas an fear i mbaile mé? Níl dúil agam san ól, Tá béas níos fearr ná sin agam a bhréagfadh cailín óg, Shaothróinn arán ’gus fataí di, cruithneacht is eorna mhór, Ó, is a Dhia, nárbh fhearr dhuit agat mé ná réic de bhuachaill óg.’
‘Míle b’fhearr liom agam an buachaillín deas óg, Nach ligfeadh chuig an aifreann mé agus bairbín ar mo bhróig, A bhéarfadh chuig teach an leanna mé agus a d’ólfadh a ghiní óir, ’S nach mbeadh sé chomh maith leat, a sheanduine, nuair a bheadh na páistí mór.’
‘Bhuel, más cailín den tsaghas sin thú is go bhfuil dúil agat san ól, Is gearr a mhairfeas airgead dhuit ná do shealbháinín bó, Ach iarraim ar Dhia is ar Mhuire mura mairfinn beo ach bliain, Go bhfeicfead ag iarraidh déirce thú is do mhála ar do dhroim.’
‘B’fhearr liom ag iarraidh déirce is mo mhála ar mo dhroim, Ná do leithéide de sheanduine a bheith sa mbaile agam tinn, Mar shílfinn mura ndéantá ach casacht nach mairfeá an oíche beo Agus lig de do chuid clamhsáin feasta liom, a ghiolla an chársáin mhóir!’
Oh, by the resilience of Wall me two miles away from the Programme, Who I met a nice girl and is not on a high saddle, 'Are you the woman the old fellow?' 'Oh, I, my ruin my torment And if I were years' live with dhósan I would not love.'
'Oh, sorry to my family I married so young, Oh, the old man married to me about a few cows, Thousand I remember well the nice young boy, A could in the morning and would give dhomsa kiss.'
'Not a nice man in town I? I do not like the drink, is better manners than I bhréagfadh that young girl, Shaothróinn her bread and potatoes, wheat barley big, Oh, God, I would not be better than you thee pitch of a young boy. '
"I remember well the Thousand nice young boy, not allowing the mass to me and my barefoot toe-cap, To render to the ale house and that I would drink a gold guinea, and it also would not you, old man, when the children would have. '
'Well, if a girl of that class you as you desire the drink, soon to subsist money thee or shealbháinín cow, But I ask God to Mary if I survived only live a year, In bhfeicfead begging you as your bag on your back. '
'I prefer begging my bag on my back, not to the old man of such I have at home sick, as if they are made ??but cough shílfinn mairfeá not live the night and let your future clamhsáin me, attendant chársáin great! '
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