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A Bhríde bheag chrón, téanam ag ól, Is ná bíodh brón ná buairt ort, A ghearra-bhean shéimh na malann deas caol, Ná tiocfá liom fein san uaigneas? Go deimhin is go dearfa, déanaimis margadh, Thíos i dtigh an tábhairne ar fuaimeat, Mar a mbeidh ól agus ragairne ó oíche go maidin, Is is dócha go bhfanfam go Luan ann.
A thaisce mo chléibh, tar feasta liom fhéin, Is tabharfaidh mé saol breá suairc duit, Leabaidh chlúmh éan go seascair féd thaobh Agus cuilteanna daora anuas ort, Cuirfead bróigín caol cantain ort, fáinní ar do ghlacaibh Is síoda ar do bhonnet ag gluaiseacht, Pillín ard greanta cuirfead fút ar do chapall, Is riding dress leata ar do ghuaillibh.
Do gheallais dom séad a mhairfeadh lem shaol, Is tá’s agat féin cad dúrt leat, Go mbeadh mo charaid go léir in earraid liom fhéin Dá ndéanfainnse an scéal san suas leat, Ní phósfainn tú, geallaim, ná aon fhear ded shamhail, Dá mbeinn fad a mhairfinn gan snuachar, Gan léiseanna fada agus ba beaga bainne ’Gus feirm bhreá thalaimh mar dhualgas.
Do dhéanfainnse an céachta idir hanla agus béama, Is chuirfinn é i ngléas ar fuaimeat, Do bhainnfinnse an féar go gasta le faobhar, Le fuinneamh mo ghéag óm ghuaillnibh, Do romharfainn, do ghrafainn, do thaoscfainn an carta Le mórchuid de a scaipeadh lem shluasad, Is máistir mé ar fhearaibh chun súistín do chasadh ’S is fear maith chun iomaire a bhuaint mé.
Is bean mé atá ar strae a fuair seascaireacht saoil, Agus taitníonn do bhréithre suairc liom, Bímse in aghaidh an lae ag obair liom féin Agus allas ’na shlaod lem ghruannaibh, Má thugann tú feasta gach ní dhom mar a gheallais, Is dócha gur fearra dhom gluaiseacht, Le hóigfhear ciúin cailce gan mustar gan bladar, A thabharfadh ór dom le scaipeadh ’na chruachaibh.
A small Chron Bride, Come drink, It is not sadness or worry you, A short woman of malann gentle pretty slim, Do you come to himself in solitude? Indeed positively, let us market, Down in the pub fuaimeat house, As will be drinking and revelry from night to morning, Bhfanfam probably is that there Monday.
A treasure of my heart, on my own future, The life I will love you chanting, Cozy bed Fed bird plumage side And you down expensive quilts, Boots will take you singing slim, rings on your ghlacaibh Silk for bhonnet is moving, High engraved pad will take about a horse, Dress is riding on your shoulders flat.
You promised me my life-long treasure, Is there's you by yourself what I said, That all my sweetheart in my own error As ndéanfainnse up the story in you, Not marry you, I promise, than any man of your model, If I was not all mhairfinn snuachar, Not far been small léiseanna milk And fine farm of land as duty.
For would I handle the plow between and béama, I would put it in the device is on fuaimeat, For the grass quickly bhainnfinnse sharp, With my arm from my ghuaillnibh energy, For romharfainn, for ghrafainn, for the card thaoscfainn With many of my shluasad spread, I master to turn men to súistín And a good man to me ridge harvest.
Woman, I've got seascaireacht lost life, And I enjoy your word of chanting, Bímse day working me And sweat 'the poop shlaod ghruannaibh, If you give me all the future as promised, With best probably move me, With quiet hóigfhear without talk of chalk without array, To bring gold for me to spread 'the chruachaibh.
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