Sunday morning as I was going to Youghal,
For I turn so the young woman,
Her hair was dripping thóirsti beauty
and her voice was sweeter than the music from it,
Your leagas my hand on to it with pride
a little kiss I dh'iarr on, my heart,
He told her, 'Stop that or tore my cloak
is not indicated for a woman ghnósa your home.'

'My hand fuilim not married,
is a young man who loved your wife,
would dtriallfá me on their back to Youghal,
Your th'ómós branded as would housewife,
I would put high caul cap properly for you,
dress, cloak and caipisín,
would we dram of wine shop most of bheoraigh
is likely pulling your child drink. '

'There is only a small time from dh'fhágas Youghal,
not allowing me to return this sadness again,
Because my people are in great anger me,
and not meant to get relief from my friends relationship,
as half says they do not advice,
But the road I meet day and night,
a girl I scaite DUBLIN walking the road
looking at Cappoquin best of my knowledge. '

Warning: This is a machine translation!
Can you help us provide a proper one?