As:
Cuid a Dó: An Ainnir |
From: Part Two: The Young Woman
|
( Labhraíonn bean óg le maithe na cúirte i dtaobh a cuid trioblóide: nach bhfuil fir óga na tíre ag pósadh agus, mar sin, go bhfuil sí gan chéile.)
Nuair a fheicim preabaire calma croíúil
Fuadrach fearúil barrúil bríomhar
Stuama feasach seasmhach saoithiúil
Gruaidhdheas greannmhar geanúil gnaoidhúil,
Nó buachaill bastallach beachanta bróigdheas
Cruaidhcheart ceanasach ceapaithe córach
Buaite ceannaithe ceangailte pósta
Ag fuaid ag cailleach ag amaid nó ag óinmhid,
Nó ag suairtle salach de chaile gan tionscal,
Stuacach stalcach aithiseach stangach
Suaiteach sotalach foclach fáidhiúil
Cuardach codlatach gairgeach gráiniáil.
Mo chreach is mo lot! Tá molt míbhéasach,
Caile na gcos is folt gan réiteach,
Dá ceangal anocht is é loisc go léir mé,
Is cá bhfuil mo locht nach dtoghfaí mé roimpi?
When I see a lad who's brave and cool
Who is virile, vigorous and strong as a mule
Who is steadfast, skillful, bright as a pin
Fresh-faced, funny, with a ready grin
Or a boy who is frisky, frolicky, fun
With a well-built body, second to none
Beaten, bought, bound unawares
By a hussy who's extremely light upstairs
Or a slovenly slattern, a workless wench
Who'd make you gag with her noisome stench
A prating, prattling, babbling bag
An indolent, irritable, horrible hag.
My God, I hear that an ill-mannered mare
With unshod feet and uncombed hair
Is to be hitched tonight which I find really grating;
What's wrong with me that I'm left here waiting?
