GUDLO XXXVIII. OF MR BARTLETT’S LEAP.
Dovo’s sim to what they pens of Mr Bartlett in Glo’stershire, who had a fino tem pāsh Glo’ster an’ Bristol, where he jivved adrée a boro ker. Kek mush never dicked so booti weshni juckalos or weshni kannis as yuv rikkered odöi. They prastered atūt saw the drumyas sim as kanyas. Yeck divvus he was kisterin’ on a kushto grai, an’ he dicked a Rommany chal rikkerin’ a truss of gib-pūss ’pré lester dūmo prāl a bitti drum, an’ kistered ’pré the pooro mush, pūss an’ sār. I jins that puro mush better ’n I jins tute, for I was a’ter yeck o’ his raklis yeckorus; he had kushti-dick raklis, an’ he was old Knight Locke. “Puro,” pens the rye, “did I kair you trash?” “I māng tūte’s shunaben, rya,” pens Locke pauli; “I didn’t jin tute sus wellin’!” So puro Locke hatched odöi ’pré dovo tem sār his miraben, an’ that was a kushti covva for the puro Locke.