[Gaelic Beginning]: Is iomaí slí sin a bhíos ag daoine ag cruinniú píosaí is ag déanamh stóir, is a laghad a smaoiníos ar ghiorra an tsaoil seo go mbeidh siad sínte faoi leac go fóill. Más tiarna tíre, diúc nó rí thú, ní rachaidh pingin leat is tú ag dul faoin bhfód. Mar sin is dá bhrí sin níl beart níos críonna ná bheith go síorraí ag cur preab san ól. An long thar sáile níl cuan nó cearda nach gcaithfeadh cairde ar fud an domhain mhóir ó ríocht na Spáinne agus suas Gibraltar Agus ins an áit a mbíonn an Grand Senor. Le gach lasta ag líonadh málaí ní choinneodh an bás uaidh uair nó dhó. Mar sin, a chairde, níl beart níos fearr dúinn ná bheith mar táimid ag cur preab san ól. [Rest in English]: Why spend your leisure bereft of pleasure A massing treasure why scrape and save? Why look so canny at ev'ry penny? You'll take no money within the grave Landlords and gentry with all their plenty Must still go empty where e'er they're bound So to my thinking we'd best be drinking Our glasses clinking and round and round King Solomon's glory, so famed in story Was far outshone by the lillies guise But hard winds harden both field and garden Pleading for pardon, the lily dies Life's but a bauble of toil and trouble The feathered arrow, once shot ne'er found So, lads and lasses, because life passes Come fill your glasses for another round The huckster greedy, he blinds the needy Their strifes unheeding, shouts "Money down!" This special vices, his fancy prices For a florin value he'll charge a crown With hump for tramel, the scripture's chamel Missed the needle's eye and so came to ground Why pine for riches, while still you've stitches To hold your britches up? Another round