Idir Aird Mhór is Eochaill
Between the Youghal ArdmoreIrish
Idir Aird Mhór is Eochaill sa ród seal do bhíos
Ar chóngar na taoide is í ag tráchaint,
Sea do dhearcas an ógbhean go mómharach binn
’S a cuacha léi cíortha go básta,
Is cailín ó Eochaill í, is eolach dom í
Is tá sí gan pósadh go bpósfadsa í,
Tá coróin gheal im phóca agus ólfaimid í
Is fágfaimid siúd mar athá sé.
‘Do thugas grá cléibh duit, a spéirbhean ar dtúis
Nuair a leagas mo shúil ar do bhánchnis,
’S go mb’fhearr liom ná mórchuid den ór athá agat
Go mbeifeá sa chúinne ag mo mháithrín,
Bheadh do bhabaí breá bó agat tráthnóna le crú
’S do leaba ghlan cóirithe ó ló dhuit sa rúm,
Chuirfinn búclaí i do bhróga luach coróineach ’s púnt,
Is a stóirín, ná tabharfá do lámh dom?’
‘Ní thabharfainn mo lámh duit go brách le haon fhonn
Go gcuirfead scéala ar dtúis chun mo mháithrín,
Mar fuair sí do thuairisc go suarach ar dtúis
Gur minic do chúrsa ’dtí an tábhairne,
Ná raibh aon ní le n-ól agat ó choróin go dtí púnt
Ag caitheamh do stóir ar mhná óga is ar lionn,
Tar éis díol as fear ceoil ní bheidh feoirling id phúits,
Is a stróille, cé thabharfadh bean bhreá dhuit?’
‘Ná creidse na scéalta is na bréaga athá ar siúl,
Is annamh a bhí mo thuras go tigh an tábhairne,
Tá airgead im phóca agus mórchuid im thrunc,
Níor dh’ólas riamh punt ar aon láthair,
Bheadh a mhalairt de ghnó againn sa bhfómhar atá chughainn,
’Baint garraithe prátaí is ag cur stácaí ar a mbonn,
Is mo mhacha a bheith lán de bha bána is dubh’
Gan aoinne chun iad a chrú ach mo mháithrín.’
English (machine translation)
Between Ardmore is Youghal in the road turn for quick
on and near the tide is at tráchaint,
Yes to sees the young woman that mómharach sweetly
And Goblets her combed waistband,
a girl from Youghal is, most familiar to me it
is she is unmarried bpósfadsa that is,
is a bright crown ólfaimid butter is mobile and
is a rehearing he'll skip those.
'I turned creels love you, maiden originally
When leagas to bhánchnis my eye,
and I prefer gold than most of you DUBLIN
That would in the corner by my mother,
would you baby loves evening milking cows
and dressed for bed net from thee day in rum,
I would value your shoes buckles in Crown and pound,
is Misty, or furnish your hand to me? '
'I would never put my hand never any order
To take all news originally for my mother,
as she got to report that despicable originally
That often your course' to the bartender,
not had anything to drink since crown that to pound
wearing for single young women to depression,
after the sale of music man id will phúits farthing,
is a stróille, while a woman would love thee? '
'Do creidse stories lies DUBLIN place,
rarely was my trip to the pub house,
is my pocket money and most im thrunc,
not pound any dh'ólas ever present,
would we otherwise business in autumn are to us,
'gardens Harvesting potatoes at a stake on the basis,
is my Armagh have a lot of black white cows'
not to be horseshoe anyone but my mother.'
Warning: This is a machine translation!
Can you help us provide a proper one?