The Irish Rover

Cân werin Wyddelig Saesneg yw "The Irish Rover". Mae teitl y gân yn cyfeirio at long fawr sydd yn teithio o Iwerddon i Efrog Newydd ond nad yw'n cyrraedd. Mae wedi'i chanu gan nifer o wahanol gerddorion a bandiau.

Geiriau gwreiddiol
In the year of our Lord, eighteen hundred and six,
We set sail from the Coal Quay of Cork
We were sailing away with a cargo of bricks
For the grand City Hall in New York
We'd an elegant craft, it was rigged 'fore and aft
And how the trade winds drove her
She had twenty-three masts and she stood several blasts
And they called her the Irish Rover

There was Barney McGee from the banks of the Lee
There was Hogan from County Tyrone
There was Johnny McGurk who was scared stiff of work
And a man from Westmeath called Malone
There was Slugger O'Toole who was drunk as a rule
And fighting Bill Tracy from Dover
And your man Mick McCann, from the banks of the Bann
Was the skipper on the Irish Rover

We had one million bags of the best Sligo rags
We had two million barrels of stones
We had three million sides of old blind horses' hides
We had four million barrels of bones
We had five million hogs and six million dogs
And seven million barrels of porter
We had eight million bales of old nanny goats' tails
In the hold of the Irish Rover

We had sailed seven years when the measles broke out
And our ship lost her way in the fog
And the whole of the crew was reduced down to two
 'Twas meself and the captain's old dog
Then the ship struck a rock; oh Lord what a shock
The bulkhead was turned right over
We turned nine times around - then the poor old dog was drowned
Now I'm the last of the Irish Rover

Amrywiadau
Yn y fersiwn a ganwyd gan The Irish Rovers, y pennill olaf yw:

...And the crew left alive were reduced down to five
Just ourselves and the captain's old dog
Then the ship struck a rock; oh, Lord, what a shock
We nearly tumbled over
Turned nine times around, and the poor old dog was drowned
We're the last of the Irish Rover

Mae trydydd linell y pennill cyntaf hefyd yn wahanol:

Down below in the hold was a cargo of bricks

Dyma'r pennill cyntaf yn fersiwn Bounding Main:

In the year of our Lord fifteen hundred and six
We set sail from the cold bay of Cork
We were sailing away with a cargo of bricks
For that grand city hall down in York
An elegant craft she was rigged fore and aft
And how the trade winds drove her
She had twenty-three masts and she stood several blasts
And they called her the Irish Rover

Yn y fersiwn a ganwyd gan The Pogues a The Dubliners, mae dau bennill ychwanegol:

There was awl Mickey Coote
Who played hard on his flute
When the ladies lined up for a set
He was tootin' with skill
For each sparkling quadrille
Though the dancers were fluther'd and bet
With his smart witty talk
He was cock of the walk
And he rolled the dames under and over
They all knew at a glance
When he took up his stance
That he sailed in The Irish Rover

For a sailor it's always a bother in life
It's so lonesome by night and day
That he longs for the shore
And a charming young whoreWho will melt all his troubles awayOh, the noise and the routSwillin' poitin and stoutFor him soon the torment's overOf the love of a maidHe is never afraidAn old salt from the Irish RoverMae yna hefyd amrywiad yn y llinell olaf ond un ym mhennill cyntaf y fersiwn hwn:She stood several blasts, she had twenty-seven mastsac hefyd yn y llinell gyntaf:On the Fourth of July, Eighteen Hundred and Six''

Irish Rover, The