English (machine translation)
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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