Preab San Ol

Is iomaí slí sin do bhíos ag daoine
Ag cruinniú píosaí is ag déanamh stóir,
'S a laghad a smaoiníos ar ghiorra a' tsaoil seo,
Go mbeidh siad sínte faoi leac go fóill.
Más tiarna tíre, diúc no rí thú,
Ní cuirfear pingin leat 's tú 'dul faoin bhfód,
Mar sin is dá bhrí sin, níl beart níos críonna
Ná bheith go síoraí ag cur preab san ól.

Is gearr an saol 'tá ag an lílí sciamhach
Cé gur buí agus gur geal a ghabháil,
Is Solamh críonna ina chulaith riúil
Nach bhfuil baol air in áille dhó.
Níl sa tsaol seo ach mar soinneán gaoithe,
Ga a scaoiltear nó slám de cheo:
Mar sin 's dá bhrí sin, níl beart níos críonna
Ná bheith go síoraí ag cur preab san ól.

Why spend your leisure bereft of pleasure
A massing treasure why scrimp 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 lily's 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