Z
Zi, s. The heart, mind. Hun. Sziv. Sans. Dhi.
Zimmen, s. Broth. Wal. Zmenteni (cream).
Zoomi, s. f. Broth, soup. Mod. Gr. ζουμὶ. Wal. Zamie (juice).
Zingaro. A Gypsy, a person of mixed blood, one who springs from various races, a made-up person. Sans. Sangkara, compositus (made-up).
RHYMED LIST OF GYPSY VERBS
To dick and jin,
To bikn and kin;
To pee and hal,
And av and jal;
To kair and poggra,
Shoon and rokra;
To caur and chore,
Heta and cour,
Moar and more,
To drab and dook,
And nash on rook;
To pek and tove,
And sove and rove,
And nash on poove;
To tardra oprey,
And chiv aley;
To pes and gin,
To mang and chin,
To pootch and pukker,
Hok and dukker;
To besh and kel,
To del and lel,
And jib to tel;
Bitch, atch, and hatch,
Roddra and latch;
To gool and saul,
And sollohaul;
To pand and wustra,
Hokta and plastra,
Busna and kistur,
Maila and grista;
To an and riggur;
To pen and sikker,
Porra and simmer,
Chungra and chingra,
Pude and grommena,
Grovena, gruvena;
To dand and choom,
Chauva and rom,
Rok and gare,
Jib and mer
With camova,
And paracrova,
Apasavello
And mekello,
And kitsi wasror,
Sore are lavior,
For kairing chomany,
In jib of Romany.
BETIE ROKRAPENES
LITTLE SAYINGS
If foky kek jins bute,
Mà sal at lende;
For sore mush jins chomany
That tute kek jins.Whatever ignorance men may show,
From none disdainful turn;
For every one doth something know
Which you have yet to learn.
BETIE ROKRAPENES
So must I ker, daiya, to ker tute mistos?
It is my Dovvel’s kerrimus, and we can’t help asarlus.
Mi Dovvel opral, dick tuley opré mande.
If I could lel bonnek tute, het-avava tute.
Misto kedast tute.
Dovey si fino covar, ratfelo jukkal, sas miro.
The plastra-mengro sollohaul’d bango.
Me camava jaw drey the Nevi Wesh to dick the purey Bare-mescrey.
You jin feter dovey oduvu.
Will you pes for a coro levinor?
Mā pi kekomi.
Mā rokra kekomi.
Bori shil se mande.
Tatto tu coccori, pen.
Kekkeno pawni dov odoi.
Sore simensar si men.
Tatto ratti se len.
Wafudu lavior you do pen, miry deary Dovvel.
Kair pias to kair the gorgies sal.
Nai men chior.
Misto sis riddo.
Muk man av abri.
Ma kair jaw.
Si covar ajaw.
An men posseymengri.
Colliko sorlo me deavlis.
Pukker zi te lesti.
Soving lasa.
Tatto si can.
Mande kinyo, nastis jalno durroder.
Mã muk de gorgey jinnen sore lidan dovvu luvvu so garridan.
Dui trins ta yeck ta pas.
Pes apopli.
Chiv’d his vast adrey tiro putsi.
Penchavo chavo savo shan tu.
I’d sooner shoon his rokrapen than shoon Lally gil a gillie.
Kekkeno jinava mande ne burreder denne chavo.
Aukko tu pios adrey Romanes.
LITTLE SAYINGS
What must I do, mother, to make you well?
It is my God’s doing, and we can’t help at all.
My God above, look down upon me!
If I could get hold of you, I would slay you.
Thou hast done well.
That is a fine thing, you bloody dog, if it were mine.
The Bow-street runner swore falsely.
I will go into the New Forest to see the old Stanleys.
You know better than that.
Will you pay for a pot of ale?
Don’t drink any more.
Do not speak any more.
I have a great cold.
Warm thyself, sister.
There is no water there.
We are all relations: all who are with us are ourselves.
They have hot blood.
Evil words you do speak, O my dear God.
Make fun, to make the Gentiles laugh.
I have no girls.
Thou art well dressed.
Let me come out.
Don’t do so.
The thing is so: so it is.
Bring me a fork.
To-morrow morning I will give it.
Tell her your mind.
Sleeping with her.
The sun is hot.
I am tired, I can go no farther.
Don’t let the Gentiles know all the money you took which you hid.
Seven pound ten.
Pay again.
Put his hand into your pocket.
The boy is thinking who you are.
I would rather hear him speak than hear Lally sing.
I know no more than a child.
Here’s your health in Romany!
COTORRES OF MI-DIBBLE’S LIL CHIV’D ADREY ROMANES
PIECES OF SCRIPTURE CAST INTO ROMANY
THE FIRST DAY
Genesis i. 1, 2, 3, 4
Drey the sherripen Midibble kair’d the temoprey tá the puv;
Tá the puv was chungalo, tá chichi was adrey lis;
Tá temnopen was oprey the mui of the boro put.
Tá Midibble’s bavol-engri besh’d oprey the pánior;
Tá Midibble penn’d: Mook there be dute! tá there was dute.
Tá Midibble dick’d that the doot was koosho-koshko.
Tá Midibble chinn’d enrey the dute tá the temnopen;
Tá Midibble kor’d the dute divvus, tá the temnopen kor’d yo rarde;
Tá the sarla, tá the sorlo were yeckto divvus.
THE FIFTH DAY
Genesis i. 20, 21, 22, 23
Then Midibble penn’d; Mook sore the panior
Chinn tairie jibbing engris bute dosta,
Tá prey puv be bute dosta chiricles
To vol adrey the rek of the tarpe.Then Midibble kair’d the borie baulo-matches,
Tá sore covar that has jibbing zi adreylis,
The bute, bute tairie covars drey the panior
Sore yeck drey its genos kair’d Midibble,The chiricles that vol adrey the tarpe
Sore yeck drey its genos kair’d he lende:
Then Midibble dick’d that sore was koosho-koshko,
And he chiv’d his koshto rokrapen opreylen:Penn’d Midibble: Dey ye frute ever-komi,
Ever-komi be burreder your nummer,
Per with covars the panior tá durior,
Tá prey puv be burreder the chiricles!Then was sarla tá sorlo panschto divvus.
THE CREATION OF MAN
Genesis i. 27, 28
Then Mi-dibble kair’d Manoo drey his dikkipen,
Drey Mi-dibble’s dikkipen kair’d he leste;
Mush and mushi kair’d Dibble lende
And he chiv’d his koshto rokrapen opreylen:Penn’d Mi-dibble: Dey ye frute ever-komi,
Ever-komi be burreder your nummer;
Per with chauves and chiyor the puvo
And oprey sore the puvo be krallior,Oprey the dooiya and its matches,
And oprey the chiricles of the tarpé,
And oprey soro covar that’s jibbing
And peers prey the mui of the puvo.
THE LORD’S PRAYER
Meery dearie Dad, sauvo jivves drey the tem oprey, be sharrafo teero nav, te awel teero tem, be kedo sore so caumes oprey ye poov, sar kairdios drey the tem oprey. Dey man to divvus meery divvuskey morro; tá for-dey mande mande’s pizzaripenes, sar mande fordeava wafor mushes lende’s pizzaripenes; mã mook te petrav drey kek tentacionos, but lel mande abri from sore wafodupen; for teero se o tem, Mi-dibble, teero o ruslopen, tá yi corauni knaw tá ever-komi. Si covar ajaw.
THE APOSTLES’ CREED
Apasavello drey Mi-dovel; Dad sore-ruslo savo kerdo o praio tem, tá cav acoi tulēy: tá drey lescro yekkero Chauvo Jesus Christus moro erray, beano of wendror of Mi-develeskey Geiry Mary; was curredo by the wast of Poknish Pontius Pilatos; was nash’d oprey ye Trihool; was mored, and chived adrey ye puve; jall’d tulēy ye temno drom ke wafudo tan, bengeskoe starriben; tá prey ye trito divvus jall’d yo oprey ke koshto tan, Mi-dovels ker; beshel yo knaw odoy prey Mi-dovels tatcho wast, Dad sore-ruslo; cad odoy avellava to lel shoonapen oprey jibben and merripen; Apasavello drey Mi-dibbleskey Ducos; drey the Bori Mi-develesky Bollisky Congri; that sore tatcho fokey shall jib in mestepen kettaney; that Mi-dibble will fordel sore wafudopenes; that soror mulor will jongor, and there will be kek merripen asarlus. Si covar ajaw. Avali.
THE LORD’S PRAYER IN THE GYPSY DIALECT OF TRANSYLVANIA
Miro gulo Devel, savo hal oté ando Cheros, te avel swuntunos tiro nav; te avel catari tiro tem; te keren saro so cames oppo puv, sar ando Cheros. Dé man sekhonus miro diveskoe manro, ta ierta mangue saro so na he plaskerava tuke, sar me ierstavava wafo manuschengue saro so na plaskerelen mangue. Ma muk te petrow ando chungalo camoben; tama lel man abri saro doschdar. Weika tiro sin o tem, tiri yi potea, tiri yi proslava akana ta sekovar.
Te del amen o gulo Del eg meschibo pa amara choribo.
Te vas del o Del amengue; te n’avel man pascotia ando drom, te na hoden pen mandar.
Ja Develehi!
Az Develehi!
Ja Develeskey!
Az Develeskey!
Heri Devlis!
My sweet God, who art there in Heaven, may thy name come hallowed; may thy kingdom come hither; may they do all that thou wishest upon earth, as in Heaven. Give me to-day my daily bread, and forgive me all that I cannot pay thee, as I shall forgive other men all that they do not pay me. Do not let me fall into evil desire; but take me out from all wickedness. For thine is the kingdom, thine the power, thine the glory now and ever.
May the sweet God give us a remedy for our poverty.
May God help us! May no misfortune happen to me in the road, and may no one steal anything me.
Go with God!
Stay with God!
Go, for God’s sake!
Stay, for God’s sake!
By God!
LIL OF ROMANO JINNYPEN
BOOK OF THE WISDOM OF THE EGYPTIANS
LIL OF ROMANO JINNYPEN
The tawno fokey often putches so koskipen se drey the Romano jib? Mande pens ye are sore dinneles; bute, bute koskipen se adrey lis, ta dusta, dosta of moro foky would have been bitcheno or nash’d, but for the puro, choveno Romano jib. A lav in Romany, penn’d in cheeros to a tawnie rakli, and rigg’d to the tan, has kair’d a boro kisi of luvvo and wafor covars, which had been chor’d, to be chived tuley pov, so that when the muskerres well’d they could latch vanisho, and had kek yeckly to muk the Romano they had lell’d opré, jal his drom, but to mang also his artapen.
His bitchenipenskie cheeros is knau abri, and it were but kosko in leste to wel ken, if it were yeckly to lel care of lescri puri, choveny romady; she’s been a tatchi, tatchi romady to leste, and kek man apasavello that she has jall’d with a wafu mush ever since he’s been bitcheno.
When yeck’s tardrad yeck’s beti ten oprey, kair’d yeck’s beti yag anglo the wuddur, ta nash’d yeck’s kekauvi by the kekauviskey saster oprey lis, yeck kek cams that a dikkimengro or muskerro should wel and pen: so’s tute kairing acai? Jaw oprey, Romano juggal.
Prey Juliken yeckto Frydivvus, anglo nango muyiskie staunyi naveni kitchema, prey the chong opral Bororukeskoe Gav, drey the Wesh, tute dickavavasa bute Romany foky, mushor ta juvar, chalor ta cheiar.
Jinnes tu miro puro prala Rye Stanniwix, the puro rye savo rigs a bawlo-dumo-mengri, ta kair’d desh ta stor mille barior by covar-plastring?
He jall’d on rokkring ta rokkring dinneleskoenaes till mande pukker’d leste: if tute jasas on dovodoiskoenaes mande curavava tute a tatto yeck prey the nok.
You putches mande so si patrins. Patrins are Romany drom sikkering engris, by which the Romany who jal anglo muk lende that wels palal jin the drom they have jall’d by: we wusts wastperdes of chaw oprey the puv at the jalling adrey of the drom, or we kairs sar a wangust a trihool oprey the chik, or we chins ranior tuley from the rukhies, and chivs lende oprey drey the puv aligatas the bor; but the tatcho patrin is wast-perdes of leaves, for patrin or patten in puro Romano jib is the uav of a rukheskoe leaf.
The tatcho drom to be a jinney-mengro is to shoon, dick, and rig in zi.
The mush savo kek se les the juckni-wast oprey his jib and his zi is keck kosko to jal adrey sweti.
The lil to lel oprey the kekkeno mushe’s puvior and to keir the choveno foky mer of buklipen and shillipen, is wusted abri the Raioriskey rokkaring ker.
The nav they dins lati is Bokht drey Cuesni, because she rigs about a cuesni, which sore the rardies when she jals keri, is sure to be perdo of chored covars.
Cav acoi, pralor, se the nav of a lil, the sherrokairipen of a puro kladjis of Roumany tem. The Borobeshemescrotan, or the lav-chingaripen between ye jinneynengro ta yi sweti; or the merripenskie rokrapen chiv’d by the zi oprey the trupo.
When the shello was about his men they rigg’d leste his artapen, and muk’d leste jal; but from dovo divvus he would rig a men-pangushi kekkomi, for he penn’d it rigg’d to his zee the shello about his men.
Jack Vardomescro could del oprey dosta to jin sore was oprey the mea-bars and the drom-sikkering engris.
The Romano drom to pek a chiriclo is to kair it oprey with its porior drey chik, and then to chiv it adrey the yag for a beti burroder than a posh ora. When the chik and the hatch’d porior are lell’d from the chiriclesky trupos, the per’s chinn’d aley, and the wendror’s wusted abri, ’tis a hobben dosta koshto for a crallissa to hal without lon.
When Gorgio mushe’s merripen and Romany Chal’s merripen wels kettaney, kek kosto merripen see.
Yeckorus he pukker’d mande that when he was a bis beschengro he mored a gorgio, and chived the mulo mas tuley the poov; he was lell’d oprey for the moripen, but as kekkeno could latch the shillo mas, the pokiniuses muk’d him jal; he penn’d that the butsi did not besh pordo pré his zi for bute chiros, but then sore on a sudden he became tugnis and atraish of the mulo gorgio’s bavol-engro, and that often of a rarde, as he was jalling posh motto from the kitchema by his cocoro, he would dick over his tatcho pikko and his bango pikko, to jin if the mulo mush’s bavol-engro was kek welling palal to lel bonnek of leste.
Does tute jin the Romano drom of lelling the wast?
Avali, prala.
Sikker mande lis.
They kairs it ajaw, prala.
A chorredo has burreder peeas than a Romany Chal.
Tute has shoon’d the lav pazorrus. Dovodoy is so is kored gorgikonaes “Trusted.” Drey the puro cheeros the Romano savo lelled lovvu, or wafor covars from lescro prala in parriken, ta kek pess’d leste apopli, could be kair’d to buty for leste as gry, mailla or cost-chinnimengro for a besh ta divvus. To divvus kek si covar ajaw. If a Romano lelled lovvu or wafu covars from meero vast in parriken, ta kek pessed mande apopli, sar estist for mande te kair leste buty as gry, mailla, or cost-chinnimengro for mande for yek divvus, kek to pen for sore a besh?
Do you nav cavacoi a weilgorus? Ratfelo rinkeno weilgorus cav acoi: you might chiv lis sore drey teero putsi.
Kek jinnipenskey covar sé to pen tute’s been bango. If tute pens tute’s been bango, foky will pen: Estist tute’s a koosho koshko mushipen, but tatchipé a ratfelo dinnelo.
Car’s tute jibbing?
Mande’s kek jibbing; mande’s is atching, at the feredest; mande’s a pirremengri, prala!
Cauna Romany foky rokkerelan yeck sar wafu penelan pal ta pen; cauna dado or deya rokkerelan ke lendes chauves penelan meero chauvo or meeri chi; or my child, gorgikonaes, to ye dui; cauna chauves rokkerelan te dad or deya penelan meero dad or meeri deya!
Meero dado, soskey were creminor kair’d? Meero chauvo, that puvo-baulor might jib by haIling lende. Meero dado, soskey were puvobaulor kair’d? Meero chauvo, that tute and mande might jib by lelling lende. Meero dado, soskey were tu ta mande kair’d? Meero chauvo, that creminor might jib by halling mende.
Sore giv-engres shan dinneles. When they shoons a gav-engro drey the tem pen: Dov-odoy’s a fino grye! they pens: Kekkeno grye se; grasni si; whether the covar’s a grasni or kekkeni. Kek jinellan the dinneles that a grasni’s a grye, though a grye is kek a grasni.
Kekkeni like Romano Will’s rawnie for kelling drey a chauro.
Cauna Constance Petulengri merr’d she was shel tã desch beshor puri.
Does tute jin Rawnie Wardomescri?
Mande jins lati misto, prala.
Does tute cam lati?
Mande cams lati bute, prala; and mande has dosta, dosta cheeros penn’d to the wafor Romany Chals, when they were rokkering wafudo of lati: She’s a rawnie; she lels care of sore of you; if it were kek for lati, you would sore jal to the beng.
So kerella for a jivipen?
She dukkers, prala; she dukkers.
Can she dukker misto?
There’s kekkeny Romany juva tuley the can for dukkering sar Rawnie Wardomescri; nastis not to be dukker’d by lati; she’s a tatchi chovahan; she lels foky by the wast and dukkers lende, whether they cams or kek.
Kek koskipen si to jal roddring after Romany Chals. When tute cams to dick lende nestist to latch yeck o’ lende; but when tute’s penching o’ wafor covars tute dicks o’ lende dosta dosta.
Mande will sollohaul neither bango nor tatcho against kekkeno; if they cams to latch abri chomoni, muk lende latch it abri their cokkoré.
If he had been bitcheno for a boro luripen mande would have penn’d chi; but it kairs mande diviou to pentch that he was bitcheno, all along of a bori lubbeny, for trin tringurishis ta posh.
When he had kair’d the moripen, he kair’d sig and plastrar’d adrey the wesh, where he gared himself drey the hev of a boro, puro rukh; but it was kek koskipen asarlus; the plastra-mengres slomm’d his piré sore along the wesh till they well’d to the rukh.
Sau kisi foky has tute dukker’d to divvus?
Yeck rawnie coccori, prala; dov ody she wels palal; mande jins lati by the kaulo dori prey laki shubba.
Sau bute luvvu did she del tute?
Yeck gurush, prala; yeck gurush coccoro. The beng te lilly a truppy!
Shoon the kosko rokkrapen so Micail jinney-mengro penn’d ke Rawnie Trullifer: Rawnie Trollopr, you must jib by your jibben: and if a base se tukey you must chiv lis tuley.
Can you rokkra Romanes?
Avali, prala!
So si Weshenjuggalslomomengreskeytemskey tudlogueri?
Mande don’t jin what you pens, prala.
Then tute is kek Romano lavomengro.
BOOK OF THE WISDOM OF THE EGYPTIANS
The young people often ask: What good is there in the Romany tongue? I answers: Ye are all fools! There is plenty, plenty of good in it, and plenty, plenty of our people would have been transported or hung, but for the old, poor Roman language. A word in Romany said in time to a little girl, and carried to the camp, has caused a great purse of money and other things, which had been stolen, to be stowed underground; so that when the constables came they could find nothing, and had not only to let the Gypsy they had taken up go his way, but also to beg his pardon.
His term of transportation has now expired, and it were but right in him to come home, if it were only to take care of his poor old wife: she has been a true, true wife to him, and I don’t believe that she has taken up with another man ever since he was sent across.
When one’s pitched up one’s little tent, made one’s little fire before the door, and hung one’s kettle by the kettle-iron over it, one doesn’t like that an inspector or constable should come and say: What are you doing here? Take yourself off, you Gypsy dog.
On the first Friday of July, before the public-house called the Bald-faced Stag, on the hill above the town of the great tree in the Forest, you will see many Roman people, men and women, lads and lasses.
Do you know my old friend Mr. Stanniwix, the old gentleman that wears a pigtail, and made fourteen thousand pounds by smuggling?
He went on talking and talking foolishness till I said to him: If you goes on in that ’ere way I’ll hit you a hot ’un on the nose.
You ask me what are patrins. Patrin is the name of the signs by which the Gypsies who go before show the road they have taken to those who follow behind. We flings handfuls of grass down at the head of the road we takes, or we makes with the finger a cross-mark on the ground, we sticks up branches of trees by the side the hedge. But the true patrin is handfuls of leaves flung down; for patrin or patten in old Roman language means the leaf of a tree.
The true way to be a wise man is to hear, see, and bear in mind.
The man who has not the whip-hand of his tongue and his temper is not fit to go into company.
The Bill to take up the no-man’s lands (comons), and to make the poor people die of hunger and cold, has been flung out of the House of Commons.
The name they gives her is “Luck in a basket,” because she carries about a basket, which every night, when she goes home, is sure to be full of stolen property.
This here, brothers, is the title of a book, the head-work of an old king of Roumany land: the Tribunal, or the dispute between the wise man and the world: or, the death-sentence passed by the soul upon the body.
When the rope was about his neck they brought him his pardon, and let him go; but from that day he would wear a neck-kerchief no more, for he said it brought to his mind the rope about his neck.
Jack Cooper could read enough to know all that was upon the milestones and the sign-posts.
The Roman way to cook a fowl is to do it up with its feathers in clay, and then to put it in fire for a little more than half an hour. When the clay and the burnt feathers are taken from the fowl, the belly cut open, and the inside flung out, ’tis a food good enough for a queen to eat without salt.
When the Gentile way of living and the Gypsy way of living come together, it is anything but a good way of living.
He told me once that when he was a chap of twenty he killed a Gentile, and buried the dead meat under ground. He was taken up for the murder, but as no one could find the cold meat, the justices let him go. He said that the job did not sit heavy upon his mind for a long time, but then all of a sudden he became sad, and afraid of the dead Gentile’s ghost; and that often of a night, as he was coming half-drunk from the public-house by himself, he would look over his right shoulder and over his left shoulder, to know if the dead man’s ghost was not coming behind to lay hold of him.
Do you know the Gypsy way of taking the hand?
Aye, aye, brother.
Show it to me.
They does it so, brother.
A tramp has more fun than a Gypsy.
You have heard the word pazorrus. That is what is called by the Gentiles “trusted,” or in debt. In the old time the Roman who got from his brother money or other things on trust, and did not pay him again, could be made to work for him as horse, ass, or wood cutter for a year and a day. At present the matter is not so. If a Roman got money, or other things, from my hand on credit, and did not repay me, how could I make him labour for me as horse, ass, or stick-cutter for one day, not to say for a year?
Do you call this a fair? A very pretty fair is this: you might put it all into your pocket.
It is not a wise thing to say you have been wrong. If you allow you have been wrong, people will say: You may be a very honest fellow, but are certainly a very great fool.
Where are you living?
Mine is not living; mine is staying, to say the best of it; I am a traveller, brother!
When Roman people speak to one another, they say brother and sister. When parents speak to their children, they say, my son, or my daughter, or my child, gorgiko-like, to either. When children speak to their parents, they say, my father, or my mother.
My father, why were worms made? My son, that moles might live by eating them. My father, why were moles made? My son, that you and I might live by catching them. My father, why were you and I made? My son, that worms might live by eating us.
All farmers are fools. When they hear a citizen in the country say: That’s a fine horse! they say: ’Tis no horse, ’tis a mare; whether the thing’s a horse or not. The simpletons don’t know that a mare’s a horse, though a horse is not a mare.
No one like Gypsy Will’s wife for dancing in a platter.
When Constance Smith died, she was a hundred ten years old.
Do you know Mrs. Cooper?
I knows her very well, brother.
Do you like her?
I loves her very much, brother; and I have often, often said to the other Gypsies, when they speaking ill of her: She’s a gentlewoman; takes care of all of you; if it were not for her, you would all go to the devil.
What does she do for a living?
She tells fortunes, brother; she tells fortunes.
Is she a good hand at fortune-telling?
There’s no Roman woman under the sun so good at fortune-telling as Mrs. Cooper; it is impossible not to have your fortune told by her; she’s a true witch; she takes people by the hand, and tells their fortunes, whether they will or no.
’Tis no use to go seeking after Gypsies. When you wants to see them ’tis impossible to find one of them; but when you are thinking of other matters you see plenty, plenty of them.
I will swear neither falsely nor truly against any one; if they wishes to find out something, let them find it out themselves.
If he had been transported for a great robbery, I would have said nothing; but it makes me mad to think that he has been sent away, all along of a vile harlot, for the value of three-and-sixpence.
When he had committed the murder he made haste, and ran into the wood, where he hid himself in the hollow of a great old tree; but it was no use at all; the runners followed his track all along the forest till they came to the tree.
How many fortunes have you told to-day?
Only one lady’s, brother; yonder she’s coming back; I knows her by the black lace on her gown.
How much money did she give you?
Only one groat, brother; only one groat. May the devil run away with her bodily!
Hear the words of wisdom which Mike the Grecian said to Mrs. Trullifer: Mrs. Trollopr, you must live by your living; and if you have a pound you must spend it.
Can you speak Romany?
Aye, aye, brother!
What is Weshenjuggalslomomengreskeytemskeytudlogueri?
I don’t know what you say, brother.
Then you are no master of Romany.
ROMANE NAVIOR OF TEMES AND GAVIOR
GYPSY NAMES OF CONTRIES AND TOWNS
THOMAS ROSSAR-MESCRO, OR THOMAS HERNE
THOMAS ROSSAR-MESCRO
Prey Juniken bis diuto divvus, drey the besh yeck mille ochto shel shovardesh ta trin, mande jaw’d to dick Thomas Rossar-mescro, a puro Romano, of whom mande had shoon’d bute. He was jibbing drey a tan naveno Rye Groby’s Court, kek dur from the Coromengreskoe Tan ta Bokkar-engreskey Wesh. When mande dick’d leste he was beshing prey the poov by his wuddur, chiving misto the poggado tuleskey part of a skammin. His ker was posh ker, posh wardo, and stood drey a corner of the tan; kek dur from lesti were dui or trin wafor ker-wardoes. There was a wafudo canipen of baulor, though mande dick’d kekkeney. I penn’d “Sarshin?” in Romany jib, and we had some rokrapen kettaney. He was a boro mush, as mande could dick, though he was beshing. But though boro he was kek tulo, ta lescré wastes were tarney sar yek rawnie’s. Lollo leste mui sar yeck weneskoe paub, ta lescro bal rather lollo than parno. Prey his shero was a beti stadj, and he was kek wafudo riddo. On my putching leste kisi boro he was, ta kisi puro, he penn’d that he was sho piré sore but an inch boro, ta enyovardesh ta dui besh puro. He didn’t jin to rokkra bute in Romano, but jinn’d almost sore so mande rokkar’d te leste. Moro rokkrapen was mostly in gorgiko jib. Yeck covar yecklo drey lescro drom of rokkring mande pennsch’d kosko to rig in zi. In tan of penning Romany, sar wafor Romany chals, penn’d o Roumany, a lav which sig, sig rigg’d to my zi Roumain, the tatcho, puro nav of the Vallackiskie jib and foky. He seem’d a biti aladge of being of Romany rat. He penn’d that he was beano drey the Givengreskey Tem, that he was kek tatcho Romano, but yeckly posh ta posh: lescro dado was Romano, but lescri daya a gorgie of the Lilengreskoe Gav; he had never camm’d bute to jib Romaneskoenaes, and when tarno had been a givengreskoe raklo. When he was boro he jall’d adrey the Lilengrotemskey militia, and was desh ta stor besh a militia curomengro. He had jall’d bute about Engli-tem and the juvalo-mengreskey, Tem, drey the cheeros of the puri chingaripen, and had been adrey Monseer-tem, having volunteered to jal odoy to cour agen the parley-woo gueros. He had dick’d Bordeaux and the boro gav Paris. After the chingaripen, he had lell’d oprey skamminengring, and had jall’d about the tem, but had been knau for buter than trianda beshor jibbing in Lundra. He had been romado, but his romadi had been mullee bute, bute cheeros; she had dinn’d leste yeck chavo, so was knau a heftwardesh beshengro, dicking bute puroder than yo cocoro, ta kanau lying naflo of a tatti naflipen drey yeck of the wardes. He penn’d that at yeck cheeros he could kair dosta luvvu by skammin-engring, but kanau from his bori puripen could scarcely kair yeck tringurushee a divvus. “Ladjipen si,” I penn’d, “that a mush so puro as tute should have to booty.” “Kosko zi! kosko zi!” he penn’d; “Paracrow Dibble that mande is dosta ruslo to booty, and that mande has koskey camomescres; I shan’t be tugnis to jib to be a shel beshengro, though tatchipen si if mande was a rye mande would kair kek booty.” His chaveskoe chavo, a trianda ta pansch beshengro, well’d kanau ta rokkar’d mansar. He was a misto dicking ta rather misto riddo mush, sar chimouni jinneymengreskey drey lescro mui. He penn’d that his dadeskoe dad was a fino puro mush, savo had dick’d bute, and that dosta, dosta foky well’d odoy to shoon lescré rokkrapenes of the puro cheeros, of the Franciskie ta Amencanskie chingaripenes, and of what yo had dick’d drey wafu tems. That tatchipen to pen there was a cheeros when his drom was dur from kosko, for that he camm’d to cour, sollohaul ta kair himself motto, but that kanau he was a wafu mush, that he had muk’d sore curopen and wafudo rokkrapen, and, to corauni sore, was yeck tee-totaller, yo cocoro having kair’d leste sollohaul that he would pi kekomi neither tatti panie nor levinor: that he jall’d sore the curques either to congri or Tabernacle, and that tho’ he kek jinn’d to del oprey he camm’d to shoon the Miduveleskoe lil dell’d oprey to leste; that the panishkie ryor held leste drey boro camopen, and that the congriskoe rashi, and oprey sore Dr. P. of the Tabernacle had a boro opinionos of leste, ta penn’d that he would hal the Miduveleskoe habben sar moro Araunyo Jesus drey the kosko tem opral. Mande putch’d whether the Romany Chals well’d often to dick leste? He penn’d that they well’d knau and then to pen Koshto divvus and Sarshin? but dov’ odoy was sore; that neither his dadeskoe dad nor yo cocoro camm’d to dick lende, because they were wafodu foky, perdo of wafodupen and bango camopen, ta oprey sore bute envyous; that drey the wen they jall’d sore cattaney to the ryor, and rokkar’d wafodu of the puno mush, and pukker’d the ryor to let lester a coppur which the ryor had lent leste, to kair tatto his choveno puro truppo drey the cheeros of the trashlo shillipen; that tatchipen si their wafodupen kaired the puro mush kek dosh, for the ryor pukker’d lende to jal their drom and be aladge of their cocoré, but that it was kek misto to pensch that yeck was of the same rat as such foky. After some cheeros I dinn’d the puro mush a tawno cuttor of rupe, shook leste by ye wast, penn’d that it would be mistos amande to dick leste a shel-beshengro, and jaw’d away keri.
THOMAS HERNE
On the twenty-second day of June, in the year one thousand eight hundred and sixty-three, I went to see Thomas Herne, an old Gypsy, of whom I had heard a great deal. He was living at a place called Mr. Groby’s Court, not far from the Potteries and the Shepherd’s Bush. When I saw him, he was sitting on the ground by his door, mending the broken bottom of a chair. His house was half-house half-waggon, and stood in a corner of the court; not far from it were two or three other waggon-houses. There was a disagreeable smell of hogs, though I saw none. I said, “How you do?” in the Gypsy tongue, and we had discourse together. He was a tall man, as I could see, though he was sitting. But, though tall, he was not stout, and his hands were small as those of a lady. His face was as red as a winter apple, and his hair was rather red than grey. He had a small hat on his head, and he was not badly dressed. On my asking him how tall he was, and how old, he said that he was six foot high, all but an inch, and that he was ninety-two years old. He could not talk much Gypsy, but understood almost all that I said to him. Our discourse was chiefly in English. One thing only in his manner of speaking I thought worthy of remembrance. Instead of saying Romany, like other Gypsies, he said Roumany, a word which instantly brought to my mind Roumain, the genuine, ancient name of the Wallachian tongue and people. He seemed to be rather ashamed of being of Gypsy blood. He told me that he was born in Buckinghamshire, that he was no true Gypsy, but only half-and-half: his father was a Gypsy, but his mother was a Gentile of Oxford; he had never had any particular liking for the Gypsy manner of living, and when little had been a farmer’s boy. When he grew up he enlisted into the Oxford militia, and was fourteen years a militia soldier. He had gone much about England and Scotland in the time of the old war, and had been in France, having volunteered to go thither to fight against the French. He had seen Bordeaux and the great city of Paris. After war he had taken up chair-making, and had travelled about the country, but had been now for more than thirty years living in London. He had been married, but his wife had long been dead. She had borne him a son, who was now a man seventy years of age, looking much older than himself, and at present lying sick of a burning fever in one of the caravans. He said that at one time he could make a good deal of money by chair-making, but now from his great age could scarcely earn a shilling a day. “What a shame,” said I, “that a man so old as you should have to work at all!” “Courage! courage!” he cried; “I thank God that I am strong enough to work, and that I have good friends; I shan’t be sorry to live to be a hundred years old, though true it is that if I were a gentleman I would do no work.” His grandson, a man of about five-and-thirty, came now and conversed with me. He was a good-looking and rather well-dressed man, with something of a knowing card in his countenance. He said that his grandfather was a fine old man, who had seen a great deal, and that a great many people came to hear his stories of the old time, of the French and American wars, and of what he had seen in other countries. That, truth to say, there was a time when his way was far from commendable, for that he loved to fight, swear, and make himself drunk; but that now he was another man, that he had abandoned all fighting and evil speaking, and, to crown all, was a tee-totaller, he himself having made him swear that he would no more drink either gin or ale: that he went every Sunday either to church or Tabernacle, and that, though he did not know how to read, he loved to hear the holy book read to him; that the gentlemen of the parish entertained a great regard for him, and that the church clergyman and, above all, Dr. P. of the Tabernacle had a high opinion of him, and said that he would partake of the holy banquet with our Lord Jesus in the blessed country above. On my inquiring whether the Gypsies came often to see him, he said that they came now and then to say “Good day” and “How do you do?” but that was all; that neither his grandfather nor himself cared to see them, because they were evil people, full of wickedness and left-handed love, and, above all, very envyous; that in the winter they all went in a body to the gentlemen and spoke ill of the old man, and begged the gentlemen to take from him a blanket which the gentlemen had lent him to warm his poor old body with in the time of the terrible cold; that it is true their wickedness did the old man no harm, for the gentlemen told them to go away and be ashamed of themselves, but that it was not pleasant to think that one was of the same blood as such people. After some time I gave the old man a small piece of silver, shook him by the hand, said that I should be glad to see him live to be a hundred, and went away home.
KOKKODUS ARTARUS
Drey the puro cheeros there jibb’d a puri Romani juva, Sinfaya laki nav. Tatchi Romani juva i; caum’d to rokkra Romany, nav’d every mush kokkodus, ta every mushi deya. Yeck chavo was láki; lescro nav Artáros; dinnelo or diviou was O; romadi was lesgué; but the rommadi merr’d, mukking leste yeck chávo. Artáros caum’d to jal oprey the drom, and sikker his nangipen to rawnies and kair muior. At last the ryor chiv’d leste drey the diviou ker. The chávo jibb’d with his puri deya till he was a desch ta pantsch besh engro. Yeck divvus a Romani juva jalling along the drom dick’d the puri juva beshing tuley a bor roving: What’s the matter, Sinfaya, pukker’d i?
My chavo’s chavo is lell’d oprey, deya.
What’s he lell’d oprey for?
For a meila and posh, deya.
Why don’t you jal to dick leste?
I have nash’d my maila, deya.
O má be tugni about your maila; jal and dick leste.
I don’t jin kah se, deya! diviou kokkodus Artáros jins, kek mande. Ah diviou, diviou, jal amande callico.
MANG, PRALA
BEG ON, BROTHER
MANG, PRALA
Romano chavo was manging sar bori gudli yeck rye te del les pasherro. Lescri deya so was beshing kek dur from odoy penn’d in gorgikey rokrapen: Meklis juggal, ta av acoi! ma kair the rye kinyo with your gudli! and then penn’d sig in Romany jib: Mang, Prala, mang! Ta o chavo kair’d ajaw till the rye chiv’d les yeck shohaury.
[Something like the following little anecdote is related by the Gypsies in every part of Continental Europe.]
BEG ON, BROTHER
A Gypsy brat was once pestering a gentleman to give him a halfpenny. The mother, who was sitting nigh, cried in English: Leave off, you dog, and come here! don’t trouble the gentleman with your noise; and then added in Romany: Beg on, brother! and so the brat did, till the gentleman flung him a sixpence.
ENGLISH GYPSY SONGS
WELLING KATTANEY: THE GYPSY MEETING
Coin si deya, coin se dado?
Pukker mande drey Romanes,
Ta mande pukkeravava tute.
Rossar-mescri minri deya!
Vardo-mescro minro dado!
Coin se dado, coin si deya?
Mande’s pukker’d tute drey Romanes;
Knau pukker tute mande.
Petuiengro minro dado!
Purana minri deya!
Tatchey Romany si men—
Mande’s pukker’d tute drey Romanes,
Ta tute’s pukker’d mande.
THE GYPSY MEETING
Who’s your mother, who’s your father?
Do thou answer me in Romany,
And I will answer thee.
A Hearne I have for mother!
A Cooper for my father!
Who’s your father, who’s your mother?
I have answer’d thee in Romany,
Now do thou answer me.
A Smith I have for father!
A Lee I have for mother!
True Romans both are we—
For I’ve answer’d thee in Romany,
And thou hast answer’d me.
LELLING CAPPI: MAKING A FORTUNE
“Av, my little Romany chel!
Av along with mansar!
Av, my little Romany chel!
Koshto si for mangue.”
“I shall lel a curapen,
If I jal aley;
I shall lel a curapen
From my dear bebee.”
“I will jal on my chongor,
Then I’ll pootch your bebee.
‘O my dear bebee, dey me your chi,
For koshto si for mangue.’
“‘Since you pootch me for my chi,
I will dey you lati.’”
Av, my little Romany chel!
We will jal to the wafu tem:
“I will chore a beti gry,
And so we shall lel cappi.”
“Kekko, meero mushipen,
For so you would be stardo;
“But I will jal a dukkering,
And so we shall lel cappi.”
“Koshto, my little Romany chel!
Koshto si for mangue.”
MAKING A FORTUNE
“Come along, my little gypsy girl,
Come along, my little dear;
Come along, my little gypsy girl—
We’ll wander far and near.”
“I should get a leathering
Should I with thee go;
I should get a leathering
From my dear aunt, I trow.”
“I’ll go down on my two knees,
And I will beg your aunt.
‘O auntie dear, give me your child;
She’s just the girl I want!’
“‘Since you ask me for my child,
I will not say thee no!’
Come along, my little gypsy girl!
To another land we’ll go:
“I will steal a little horse,
And our fortunes make thereby.”
“Not so, my little gypsy boy,
For then you’d swing on high;
“But I’ll a fortune-telling go,
And our fortunes make thereby.”
“Well said, my little gypsy girl,
You counsel famously.”
LELLING CAPPI
No.2
“Av, my little Rumni chel,
Av along with mansar;
We will jal a gry-choring
Pawdle across the chumba.
“I’ll jaw tuley on my chongor
To your deya and your bebee;
And I’ll pootch lende that they del
Tute to me for romadi.”
“I’ll jaw with thee, my Rumni chal,
If my dye and bebee muk me;
But choring gristurs traishes me,
For it brings one to the rukie.
“’Twere ferreder that you should ker,
Petuls and I should dukker,
For then adrey our tanney tan,
We kek atraish may sova.”
“Kusko, my little Rumni chel,
Your rokrapen is kusko;
We’ll dukker and we’ll petuls ker
Pawdle across the chumba.
“O kusko si to chore a gry
Adrey the kaulo rarde;
But ’tis not kosko to be nash’d
Oprey the nashing rukie.”
MAKING A FORTUNE
No.2
“Come along, my little gypsy girl,
Come along with me, I pray!
A-stealing horses we will go,
O’er the hills so far away.
“Before your mother and your aunt
I’ll down upon my knee,
And beg they’ll give me their little girl
To be my Romadie.”
“I’ll go with you, my gypsy boy,
If my mother and aunt agree;
But a perilous thing is horse-stealinge,
For it brings one to the tree.
“’Twere better you should tinkering ply,
And I should fortunes tell;
For then within our little tent
In safety we might dwell.”
“Well said, my little gypsy girl,
I like well what you say;
We’ll tinkering ply, and fortunes tell
O’er the hills so far away.
“’Tis a pleasant thing in a dusky night
A horse-stealing to go;
But to swing in the wind on the gallows-tree,
Is no pleasant thing, I trow.”
THE DUI CHALOR
Dui Romany Chals were bitcheney,
Bitcheney pawdle the bori pawnee.
Plato for kawring,
Lasho for choring
The putsi of a bori rawnee.
And when they well’d to the wafu tem,
The tem that’s pawdle the bori pawnee,
Plato was nasho
Sig, but Lasho
Was lell’d for rom by a bori rawnee.
You cam to jin who that rawnie was,
’Twas the rawnie from whom he chor’d the putsee:
The Chal had a black
Chohauniskie yack,
And she slomm’d him pawdle the bori pawnee.
THE TWO GYPSIES
Two Gypsy lads were transported,
Were sent across the great water.
Plato was sent for rioting,
And Louis for stealing the purse
Of a great lady.
And when they came to the other country,
The country that lies across the great water,
Plato was speedily hung,
But Louis was taken as a husband
By a great lady.
You wish to know who was the lady,
’Twas the lady from whom he stole the purse:
The Gypsy had a black and witching eye,
And on account of that she followed him
Across the great water.
MIRO ROMANY CHl
As I was a jawing to the gav yeck divvus
I met on the drom miro Romany chi;
I pootch’d las whether she come sar mande,
And she penn’d tu sar wafo rommadis;
O mande there is kek wafo romady,
So penn’d I to miro Romany chi,
And I’ll kair tute miro tatcho romadi
If you but pen tu come sar mande.
MY ROMAN LASS
As I to the town was going one day
My Roman lass I met by the way;
Said I: Young maid, will you share my lot?
Said she: Another wife you’ve got.
Ah no! to my Roman lass I cried:
No wife have I in the world so wide,
And you my wedded wife shall be
If you will consent to come with me.
AVA, CHI
Hokka tute mande
Mande pukkra bebee
Mande shauvo tute—
Ava, Chi!
YES, MY GIRL
If to me you prove untrue,
Quickly I’ll your auntie tell
I’ve been over-thick with you—
Yes, my girl, I will.