Is olc an talmhaí mé i dtús a’ Mhárta, Níor chaitheas láí ar feadh seacht mblian’

Terrible the farm worker I am at the start of March, I haven’t put in a loy-spade for seven years

Ar maidin inné bhí camadam scéil ag gaige gan chéill dá leathadh ‘dir mhnáibh

Yesterday morning there was a romantic story being without sense spreading between the women

Imir an ní úd bhíodh ag eitilt in airde

Play that thing which flies overhead

Do riarfainn sceól dom chomharsa ar aon rud ar mbriathraibh beoil dob eól do chéadta

I would serve a tale to my neighbours on anything in the spoken words that many would understand

Cé tharla in ionad mé gan uireasa bídh ná óil, Gan gábha le foithin i gcuideachtain mílte slógh,

What happened instead of me being without want for food or drink, Without dangers with shelter in the company of thousands of people

Bhí fear i gCléire fadó agus is é an ainm a bhí air ná Dónall Mór.

There was a man in Cléire long ago and the name that he had on him was Great Dómhnall.