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Sí an fhaoileann an bhean bhreá ’na dtug mo chroí dhi grá, Mar is gile í ná barr an drúchta, Pé mar atháim dá n-abróinn a bháb, Cár mhiste liomsa trácht mar siúd ort, Pé mar atháim dá n-abróinn a bháb, Cár mhiste liomsa trácht mar siúd ort, Do chois, do chom, do lámha, do mhéin, do ghean de ghnáth, Do chlú, do mheas, do cháil agus do mhúinteacht.
’Gus tá mise tinn is níl aon fháil ar mo leigheas, Ní fíon agus ní meadhg ab fhearr liom, Ach mo ghrá do theacht im dh’fheighil is mo cheann a chur ’na binn, Is ba dhóigh liom go bhfaighinn mo shláinte, Mura dtiocfaidh tú is mé a leigheas, tiocfaidh orm treighid, Ó m’och ó is go bhfaighidh an bás mé, Is nach trua siúd mise im chadhain, gan sult, gan ghreann, gan mheidhir, Is sháigh tú led shaighdí grá mé.
Is dá bhfaighinnse cailín deas a shuífeadh síos le m’ais, Ní dh’áireoinn a maith ar aon chor, Dh’ullmhódh mo chuid bídh i gceart, nífeadh mo léine gheal, Siúd agus mo thoil a dhéanamh, Chuirfinn síoda uirthi mar bhrat, bróig ard agus gúna plaid, Agus chóireoinn í ar fad den réim úd, Seál den scarlet ceart, ribíní is dandy cap Agus aprún den gKingdom céimric.
Dar an fhaobhar atá ar mo ghuth is dar an ngéag atá faoin lon, Dar an chraobh úd a bhfuil an t-airne ann, An sneachta agus an sioc a thagann chughainn anoir, Is ansa liom thú ná mo mháthair, Dar a bhfuil agat thall agus abhus, Ar thír agus ar muir go hard díobh, Dá dtiocfása liom phósfainn fhéineach thú, Is ní scarfainnse go lá mo bháis leat.
Dar thoir agus dar thiar agus dar Dhroichead Uí Bhriain, Agus dar a raibh de chiall ag Éire, ’S dar a ngabhann siad den iasc sna farraigí seo thiar, Agus dar a raibh ariamh aige Damer, Cár dheise siúd ná fíon ná gealach gheal is grian, Agus píopaire ina ndiaidh ar thaobh chnoic, Ní réiteoidís mo phian gan ainnir dheas na gcliar, Mar is í a chuir mo chiall ar strae uaim.
It is the beauty, the lady love 'of gave my heart kinder love, As brighter than the top of the dew, Whatever as atháim their I were to bháb, Where Could I comment as those you, Whatever as atháim their I were to bháb, Where Could I as those you mention, your foot, your waist, your hands, your humor, your fond usually, your reputation, your view, your reputation and your mhúinteacht.
I am sick and can not get my medicine, not wine and my favorite whey, But my love for my arrival butter dh'fheighil one to 'the sweet, is I would think to obtain my health, Unless as I heal you, I will treighid, from m'och from that I will die, are not I pity those Chadhain butter, without pleasure, without humor, without mheidhir, is thrust led shaighdí you I love.
If I received a nice girl who would sit down with m'ais, not a good dh'áireoinn whatsoever, Dh'ullmhódh my food properly, nífeadh my white shirt, Those and my will to do, I would flag it as silk, high shoe and plaid dress, and her entire chóireoinn the charge in question, turn the scarlet right, ribbons a dandy cap and aprons of g Kingdom céimric.
According to the edge of my voice that feel the limb below the numbers, ending the championship who have the sloe there, the snow and the frost coming next the east, is I love you or my mother, ending with you over and here, on land and at sea of tall, would dtiocfása fhéineach I would marry you, is not that my dying day scarfainnse you.
According east and ending west and ending O'Brien's Bridge, and feel that was a sense of Ireland, and feel that they accompany the fish in the seas behind, and feel that was never his Damer, Where Opportunity those than wine or moon bright the sun, And píopaire followed on the hill, not solve a maiden my pain without the right answer them poetically, as it did I lost my senses.
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