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Is b’ait liom bean a d’imreodh cleas is nach gclisfeadh ar a grá,A shiúlfadh isteach le gean ar fhear is nach seasfadh leis sa tsráid, Do bhéilín deas is milse blas, ná mil na mbeach faoi Cháisc, Do chúl trom tais, fionn fáinneach glas, is í Peigí atá mé a rá.
Is míne a dreach ná an clúmh mín geal is ná cúr na tuile ag trá, A croí breá deas den fhás nár mheath, mar éiríonns duilliúr is bláth, Sula dtéim i bhfeart tá m’intinn leatsa, a Pheigí, a mhíle grá, Is é mo léan is mo chreach, gan tú is mé leat ar chóstaí Mheiriceá.
A stór mo chroí, ná tréig do mhian ach breathnaigh isteach sa gcás, Nuair a thiocfas an tslí beidh ól ar fhíon is ní baol dhúinn choíche an bás, A bhláth na gcraobh, nach buartha an scéal mara tú atá dhomsa i ndán, Thar uaisle an tsaoil dhá mbeinn i mo rí nach leatsa a chraithfinn láimh.
Dhá bhfaighinnse caoi nó áit le suí ní stopfainn bliain ná ráithe, Go scríobhfainn síos le peann deas caol do chuma agus do cháil, Mar nár rugadh ariamh aon bhean sa tír a bhéarfadh uaitse an barr, Is ó scriosadh an Traoi mar gheall ar mhnaoi is ó cuireadh Déirdre chun báis.
Is tá lonradh an óir i bhfolt mo stóir is é ag fás go fáinneach fionn, Go béal a bróige chomh glas le deoir is é fite os a cionn, A bhláth na n-úll is breátha snú ná duilliúr bharr na gcrann, Is faigh réidh Dé Luain, go dtéimid chun siúil ’s féach mara bhfuil sé i ndán.
Tá breátha is gile, fuil is cuisle is lasadh deas dhá réir, I mbláth na finne, is cruinne is is glaise súil is leagan béil, Níl bréag ar bith sa scéal atá amuigh, nach fear mé atá gan chéill, Le bliain inniu gach aon lá suilt is mé ag smaoineamh ar bhláth na gcraobh.
Mo ghrá faoi dhó na mná go deo, cé gur fhág siad mise tinn, Ag déanamh bróin faoi luach an óil is a dhíobháil é a bheith cruinn, Is go mb’fhearr liom póg ó Pheigí, ar ndóigh, is í a bheith in uaigneas liom, Ná saibhreas Sheoirse, gidh gur mhór é a leath dhá mbeadh sé uilig cruinn.
Is b’ait liom dórtadh a fháil ar phórtar is cannaí lán de leann, Puins ar bord is gloiní i gcóir dá mbeadh mo phócaí teann, Mo ghrá is mo stór a bheith os mo chomhair ag caint is ag comhrá liom, Is léi a d’ólfainn luach na mbróg dhá mbeadh mo chuntas cruinn.
I seemed a woman who would play a trick not to love failure, A walked into the affection of men and not to stand in the street, your pretty lips sweetest taste, than honey bee Easter, For heavy rear moist blond green ring, which is Peigí I say.
Smoother appearance than the smooth plumage bright than the flood foam at beach A lovely heart of growth not decline, as most flower foliage éiríonns, Before I go in my mind are miracles with you, Peggy, a sweetheart, a my sorrow and my ruin, without you I am with you on American shores.
Treasure of my heart, not Drop your desire but look into the case, when will come the way will drink wine is not danger for us never die, A flower of the branches, not worried the story sea you are dhomsa destined, For gentlemen all two in my king I would not be chraithfinn handed to you.
Two meant to get the opportunity or place to sit not stopfainn year or quarter, In scríobhfainn down with pen pretty slim look and reputation, as not born never any woman in the country would give you of the top, is from destroyed Troy because his wife is since Deirdre executed.
Is a shining gold in bhfolt my store is growing ring blond, That mouth shoe as green with tear is woven over, A bloom of apple finest SNU than foliage because of the trees, is get ready Monday to set out walking and see marine destined.
A fine brightest, blood is the lifeblood that lit nice two-by, in the flower of fairness, the globe greenest hope lay mouth, not lie on any of the story's out, not a man I've senseless, twelve today all most fun day I think the final bloom.
My love twice the woman forever, although I left them ill, Making sadness about the value of the damage is drinking to be accurate, is that I would prefer a kiss from Peggy, of course, is to be lonely I, not wealth George, although half that two major all be accurate.
As I seemed to get phórtar poured a lot of beer cans, Puins glasses on the table, for if my pockets tight, my love and my treasure to be before me rant at me, as she d 'shoe ólfainn two would value my accurate account.
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