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Scríobhfad litir Ghaeilge ag De Valera isteach sa Dáil,Beidh píosa maith le léamh aige faoin dlí atá thart san áit, Rud a chleacht mé anois le fada, mo phíopa a choinneáil lán, Ach tá sé anois ar an tinteán agam is gan blas agam le cur ann.
’S nach luibh é an tobac beannaithe seo a bhí ag fás ó thús an tsaoil, An rud a bhí chomh laethúil leis, cén fath é a bheith chomh daor? ’S nárbh fhearr dhuit gail ar maidin dhó ná mil na mbeach ar bhord, Ach ó leagadh coróin ar cheathrú dhe, níl duine agaibh a bheadh in ann dó.
’S dhá mbeadh píosa dhe i do phóca nó ar cheann an stóil le t’ais, Dhá mbeadh brón ná briseadh croí ort, bhí sé in ann a thabhairt ar ais, Dhá dtéiteá amach sa ngarraí agus deatach a ligean le gaoth, ’S go dtabharfadh sé ar an eolas thú le do ghraithe a chur chun cinn.
Nuair a smaoiním mar is ceart air chois an teallaigh is mé liom féin, San am a mbínn dhá ghearradh chuirfinn ceangailt in mo bhéal, Ach anois níl aon bhlas le déanamh agam ach mo cheann a chromadh fúm, Is tá an t-uisce ag tíocht ó m’fhiacla is ó mo ghialltrachaí le dúil.
’S nach mór an scrios ar Éirinn an tobac a bheith ag éirí gann, Nach leigheasfeadh sé na seandaoine atá sa mbaile tinn, Nach leigheasfeadh sé an phian droma dhíobh, dó croí agus tinneas cinn, Is nárbh é ár sláinte chuile mhaidin é dhá gearradh le mo scian.
’S nach é an trua ghéar nach bhfuil a fhios agam cén áit a bhfuil sé ag fás, ’S dhá mba ar mo ghlúine a shiúilfinn ann, is d’fhéachfainn le ghoil ann, Ní stopfaidh mé is ní chónóidh mé is ní sheasfaidh mé in aon áit, Nó go dtabharfaidh mé scéala dhaoibhse, a dhaoine, cén áit a bhfuil sé ag fás.
Is casadh fear ar maidin dhom is na páipéir ina láimh, Léigh sé amach na litreachaí agus dúirt sé, ‘Fan mar atáir’, Nuair a thiocfas ráithe an earraigh, beidh tobac agaibh le fáil, Agus beidh sé á dhíol ar phínn an píosa nuair a bheas an budget lán.’
Scríobhfad letter by De Valera in Irish in the Dáil, Will he read a piece about the law about the place, Something I practiced now by far, my pipe to keep full, But it is now on my hearth I taste is not to be there.
And the tobacco is sacred herb growing this from the beginning of life, The thing that was so daily to, why to be so expensive? And thee would not be better in the morning burning steam or honey bee on board, But by setting a fourth crown him, not one of you would be able to it.
And twice a piece of it in your pocket or on one of the stools with t'ais, Two would you regret not heartache, he was able to return, Two dtéiteá smoke out in the garden and let the wind, And it would let you know your ghraithe promotion.
When properly think it is also the hearth I myself, In that time I used two cut a connection would put in my mouth, But now there is no taste to do I just dipped my head about me, Is the water is coming from and from my ghialltrachaí m'fhiacla with desire.
And must not the destruction of the tobacco Ireland disappearing, It leigheasfeadh Not the old people at home sick, It leigheasfeadh not the back pain of them, his heart and headache, Our health is not it every morning with my two cutting knife.
And that is a pity that I do not know where it is growing, And two were on my knees shiúilfinn there, most of fhéachfainn with wept there, I is not not stop and I chónóidh I will stand in one place, Or that I will dhaoibhse news, ladies, where it is growing.
The man turns to me most of the morning paper in his hand, He read out the litreachaí and said, 'Wait a atáir' When comes the spring quarter, tobacco will provide you with, And will be sold on the piece pen when the full budget. '
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