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Agus bail ó Dhia orm féin is ar mo speal mar is í atá géarAgus ghearrfadh sí an féar atá sa ngairdín, An chíb amuigh ar an sliabh, san áit nár gearradh cheana ariamh Agus a thriomódh an lá ina dhiaidh sin gan aon bháisteach.
Ghearrfadh sí na clocha glasa chomh réidh le barranna fata Agus na coillte atá go dlúth lena chéile, Is ní chreideoinn ón gcailleach feasa a bhfuil an rásúr pike ina claimhe Ná saighid ag daoine maithe níos géire.
Nuair a shuímse síos ar foscadh agus tosaím dá dearcadh, Nach dtugann sí dom cúl gaoithe is aghaidh gréine, Is nach gcluinfeá ceathrú míle í taobh thiar de Chruach na Caoile, Nuair a d’fhógraínn í thar muir agus thar sáile.
Nuair a d’ólfadh mo spealsa tae, bheadh sí ag obair uaithi féin I gcoirnéil, i moing sléibhe nó i lár páirce, Agus chúns a bheadh sí ag gearradh, ní chuimhneodh a béal ar casadh Go n-imíodh an solas as an ngealach is as na réalta.
Is dá mbeinnse is mo speal tréan agus back againn dúinn féin, Nach ngabhfadh muid a chúnamh do na Spáinnigh, Agus lagfadh muid na Státaí le gunnaí is claimhí láidir Agus chuirfeadh muid an flít uilig á mbáthadh.
Nach seolfadh muid le cóir siar faoi dhéin an iolraigh mhóir Nó go ngearrfadh muid an fheoil anuas dá chnámha, Agus mharódh muid Val Ford is na tíoránaigh atá mór ann Is gan táille a ghlacadh ag prionsa nó ag banríon.
Is ag filliúint dhomsa abhaile is mé théis mo phíosa gaisce, Nach dtabharfainn m’aghaidh ar chuan Phort Láirge, Is nach iomaí fear is bean a thiocfadh ag fiafraí faoi mo speal Agus a chroithfeadh liom barr na láimhe.
Agus thabharfaidís mé suas i bparlús i dteach mór San áit a mbeidh chuile chineál ceoil is pléaráca, Ó, beidh oíche againn ann is ól is chuile chineál ceoil, Dár casadh riamh ar bhugle ná ar chláirseach.
Nach scríobhfaidh mise leabhar agus coinneoidh mé mo mheabhair air, A mbeidh history ar an domhan ann, lán mála, Ach anois ó tá mé in aois is go bhfuil fios agam ar an saol seo, Ní maith liom an dlí atá dá chaitheamh leis na Spáinnigh.
And God bless myself and my scythe as it is sharp and she imposition of the grass in the garden, Sedge out on the mountain, the place had never been cut and that thriomódh the next day without any rain.
She imposition of green stones as smooth a potato tops and the woods are closely together, is not witch chreideoinn from the razor-how pike a sword Do arrows are good people closer.
Shuímse When I start down the shelter and its attitude, not she give me back the next solar wind, is not it gcluinfeá quarter mile behind Steel Caoile, When it fhógraínn over sea and overseas.
When spealsa would drink my tea, she would work herself in gcoirnéil, in the mane of a mountain or in midfield, and habits while she would cut, will remember not to mouth turns That the light gone from the moon is from the star.
If I were my strong scythe and back ourselves, not we involve assistance to the Spaniards, and we would seriously undermine the static with strong claimhí guns and we would all be drowning fleet.
That we would be sent back should be approached with the large multiples Or that we would cut down the meat of its bones, and we would kill Val Ford is the big tíoránaigh there is no fee to participate at the prince or queen.
Is at home dhomsa filliúint my piece as I felt the heroic, not my face would give Waterford harbor, is that many men and women who come asking about my scythe And I chroithfeadh top hand.
And I impart up in a large house parlor Where will Pléaráca all kinds of music, Oh, there will be a night we drink all kinds of music, Of turning ever bhugle than harp.
Not write your own book and I will keep my mind it, A will history of the world, full bag, But now I am old that I suggest this world, I do not like the legal consumption of the Spaniards .
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