plúr, ⁊ ḃain sé ceann do na plúra’ ⁊ ṫug leis é. ’Ar leis féin[1] annsin “dá mbeiḋinn ar ais ag an ríġ anois, ṫiucfaḋ liom sgéalta iongantaċa innsint dó, ⁊ ġeoḃainn airgiod uaḋ;” ⁊ mar sin de d’ḟill sé ar ais ionns’ ar an ríġ, agus fuair sé ’na ṡuiḋe ins an ġarrḋa é.
“Cá ḃfuil tú ag dul anois?” ars an rí, “naċ goirid ó ḃí tú annseo a roiṁe.”
“Tig liom sgéalta innsint duit anois,” ars an gasúr.
“Maiseaḋ innis leat,” laḃair an rí. D’innis an gasúr dó fá’n ṗáirc eallaiġ a ċonnaic sé a ḃí cóṁ boċt sin ⁊ an méad féir a ḃí aca.
“Innseóċaiḋ mise ḋuit cad é buḋ ċiall dó sin,” ars an rí; “sé sin daoine a ḃí ag troid ar an tsaoġal seo, ⁊ droċ-ṫeaċt-le-ċéile aca, agus beiḋ siad ins an ċruaḋ-ċás sin go dtí lá an ḃreiṫeaṁnais.”
D’innis an t‑ógánaċ dó fá na caoraiḃ reaṁra ins an ṗáirc lom. “Sé sin deaġ-ḋaoine a ḃí maiṫ, carṫanaċ le ċéile ar an tsaoġal so, ⁊ beiḋ an gléas maiṫ sin orra go lá an ḃreiṫeaṁnais.”
D’innis an gasúr dó fá’n tobar uisge i n‑a roḃ sé bric ag dul ṫart agus ceann aṁáin a lár báire naċ roḃ corruġaḋ.
“Sin sé lá na seaċtmaine a ḃí ag dul ṫart, ⁊ an Doṁnaċ ar socar.”
D’innis dó fá’n ṗoll mór uisge ⁊ an casán caol ṫairis, ⁊ an mada duḃ ag a ċoiṁead.
“Sin Ifrionn,” ars an rí, “⁊ ’sé an Diaḃal a ḃí ’san ċasán, ⁊ mur[2] gcoisrigfeá ṫú féin ’san ṁóimid sin, ḃeiṫeá caillte.”
D’innis an buaċaill dó fá’n tiġ-ṗobuil ⁊ fá’n Aifrionn ⁊ na sé colmáin a ṫáinic ag éisteaċt leis.
“Sé sin sé mná a ḃí agamsa, ⁊ ṁarḃ mé alig[3] go léir iad, ar eagla go mbeiḋeaḋ páistiḋe ar biṫ aca.”
D’innis an gasúr dó fá’n ġarrḋa plúr do ċonnaic sé, “agus,” ar seision, “ar eagla naċ gcreidfiḋe mé, ḃain mé ceann de na plúir, ⁊ ṫug liom é ⁊ sin ċugat é.”
“T’eagla orm,” duḃairt an rí, “go ḃfuil mé caillte, óir buḋ ċóir gur ṁac daṁ atá ’san ṗlúr seo.”
Scairt sé ar a ḃean, ⁊ d’ḟiafruiġ di an roḃ ariaṁ mac aici ḋó-san.
“Ḃí,” ar sí, “⁊ sin é os do ċoinne annsin.”
Nuair a ċualaiḋ an rí seo, ġlac sé táṁ ⁊ ṫuit sé marḃ ar an talaṁ.
Ṫug an ḃanríoġan an t‑ógánaċ isteaċ ’san ṗálás, ⁊ ḃí riġeaċt ⁊ saiḋḃreas an tsean-ríoġ alig aige; ⁊ ḃí sé féin ⁊ a ṁáṫair go sona, seunṁar ó ṡin amaċ: ⁊ mar roḃ siad-san go mbeiḋ sinne.
Peadar MacFionnlaoiġ.
TRANSLATION.
the king who was not to find death.
There was long ago a king who was to be alive ever till his own son should tell him an old story (a wonder or romance). He was married to six wives, one after another, but he killed all-in-the-world of them for fear they should have any children at all. One day he was going along the road, and his driver with him. He saw a girl washing in a stream by the roadside, and he sent his driver down to ask her if she would marry him. It is what she said to the driver: "Leave off your merry-making and don't be mocking me." The king himself then went down, and asked her would she marry him. She said she would; and they were married, and the king brought her to his (own) home. A year after that, the king noticed how bulky she was growing, but she pretended that it was the good treatment she was getting that was putting that improvement on her. A little while after that, she asked permission of the king to go on a visit to her mother, and the king granted it.
She then went home, and not long after she gave birth to a young son, whom she hid from the king lest he might kill him. She put the child to be nursed, and went back to the king. When the lad grew up, his mother sent him to school, and she used to give him money unknown to the king, to buy books, &c. He had no knowing who his father was; and one day, being penniless, he heard that this king was good at giving money away. He went unto him, and found him seated in the garden, and he asked him for some money. "Have you any story to tell me?" says the king. "No," says the boy. "Well then I'll give you no money," says the king.
The youth departed as he had come. He proceeded not far when he saw a large field and many cattle in it, and he remarked that they were poor, lean, and fleshless, although the grass reached to their horns. When he went a little farther, he saw a piece of ground with a flock of sheep in it, and they were fat, fleshy, and in prime condition, though the grass was very bare. He walked on again till he came to a well of water. Six trout were moving about in the water, and one in the middle at rest. He walked on again till he met with a large pool of water in the middle of his path. There was a plank across the pool, and a large, fierce black dog, to which a chain was fastened, half-ways on the plank. When the
