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A Dhónaill Óig, má théirse thar farraige, Tabhair mé fhéin leat is ná déan dearmad, Mar beidh agat féirín lá aonaigh is margaidh, Agus beidh iníon rí Éireann mar chéile ban agat.
Ó gheall tú dhomsa agus rinne tú bréag liom, Go mbeifeá romham ag cró na gcaorach, Lig mé fead ort is dhá chéad béice Ach ní bhfuair mé romham ach na huain ag méileach.
Chuir tú amach mé is bhí an oíche ag báisteach, Fuair mé leagan i mbéal na bearna, Níor dhúirt tú Dia linn is bhí tú i láthair, Is bhí fhios agam an uair úd go raibh fuath ag mo ghrá dhom.
Dúirt mo mháithrín liom gan labhairt leat Inniu ná amáireach ná Dé Domhnaigh, Nach deireanach, a stór, a fuair mé an fuagra Is é an fál ar an bpáirc é i ndiaidh na foghla.
Gheall tú dhomsa ní nárbh fhéidir, Go gcuirfeá muileann ar gach sruth dhá ndéarfainn Fáinne óir ar gach aon mhéir liom Agus codladh sámh ar dhea-chlúmh éanlaith.
Scéal ar an ngrá nach mairg a thug é, Do mhac na mná úd riamh nár thug é, Mo chroí i mo lár, ó! d’fhág sé dubh é, Is ní fheicim sa tsráid ná in áit ar bith é.
A ghiolla na finne is a ghiolla na ruacha, A chúl trom tais a d’fhág m’intinn buartha Nuair a chloisim cáil nó mná á lua leat, Ó, titeann an bun agus barr mo ghruaige.
Ó bhain tú thoir agus bhain tú thiar díom, Bhain tú an ghealach is an ghrian díom, Bhain tú an croí a bhí i lár mo chléibhe díom, Nach rímhór m’fhaitíos gur bhain tú Dia dhíom.
Donald Young, if théirse over sea, Take me with you and do not forget, as you'll treat from market day, and the king's daughter Ireland will ban you as a spouse.
Since you because dhomsa and did you lie to me, That would bore me a sheep, I let you whistled two hundred béice But I did not me but the lambs bleating.
You put out and I had the night rain, I got mouths set in the gap, not God we told you that you were present, is was the debate, I know that my love hatred at me.
My mother told me not to talk to you Today or tomorrow or Sunday, not last, dear, I got the fuagra The fence on the field after the trespass it.
Dhomsa not because you could not, So you add all downstream mill two ndéarfainn gold ring on each finger me and sleep good plumage poultry.
The love story that brought it woe, Your son of the woman in question never gave it not, my heart in my center, from! he left it black, is I see in the street than it anywhere.
A servant is a servant of the fairness of ruacha, A moist heavy rear left my mind worried when I hear a woman's reputation or quoting you, Oh, drops the top and bottom of my hair.
Since you did you were east and west of me, were you the moon is the sun me, were you the heart was the center of my bosom in me, not my fear a severe that you have God in me.
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