If you kill the first snake you see, you’ll kill the first (principal) enemy you have. That is what they say, but I don’t know whether it is true or not. And once there was a very bad man who was always doing bad deeds. And one day he saw a snake in the forest, and ran after it with a great knife in his hand and cut her head off. And then he said to himself, “Now that I’ve killed the snake, I’ll take the life of my most vindictive (literally, most venomous) enemy.” And just as he spoke that word he struck his foot against the roots of a tree, and fell down and drove the knife into his own body (liver or heart). And as he lay dying in the forests, he said to himself, “Yes, I see now that it is true what they told me as to killing a snake; for I never had any worse enemy than I have been to myself, and what comes of killing innocent animals is naught good.”
GUDLO XLIII. THE STORY OF THE GIPSY AND THE BULL.
Yeckorus there was a Rommany chal who was a boro koorin’ mush, a surrelo mush, a boro-wasteni mush, werry toonery an’ hunnalo. An’ he penned adusta cheiruses that kek geero an’ kek covva ’pré the drumyas couldn’t trasher him. But yeck divvus, as yuv was jāllin’ langs the drum with a wáver pal, chūnderin’ an’ hookerin’ an’ lunterin’, an’ shorin’ his kokero how he could koor the puro bengis’ selfus, they shooned a gūro a-goorin’ an’ googerin’, an’ the first covva they jinned he prastered like divius at ’em, an’ these here geeros prastered apré ye rukk, an’ the boro koorin’ mush that was so flick o’ his wasters chury’d first o’ saw (sār), an’ hatched duri-dirus from the puv pré the limmers. An’ he beshed adoi an’ dicked ye bullus wusserin’ an’ chongerin’ his trushnees sār aboutus, an’ kellin’ pré lesters covvas, an’ poggerin’ to cutengroes saw he lelled for lesters miraben. An’ whenever the bavol pudered he was atrash he’d pelt-a-lay ’pré the shinger-ballos of the gooro (gūro). An’ so they beshed adoi till the sig of the sala, when the mush who dicked a’ter the gruvnis welled a-pirryin’ by an’ dicked these here chals beshin’ like chillicos pré the rukk, an’ patched lengis what they were kairin’ dovo for. So they pookered him about the bullus, an’ he hānkered it avree; an’ they welled alay an’ jālled andūrer to the kitchema, for there never was dui mushis in ’covo tem that kaumed a droppi levinor koomi than lender. But pāle dovo divvus that trusheni mush never sookered he couldn’t be a trashni mush no moreus. Tácho.
TRANSLATION.
Once there was a Gipsy who was a great fighting man, a strong man, a great boxer, very bold and fierce. And he said many a time that no man and no thing on the roads could frighten him. But one day, as he was going along the road with another man (his friend), exaggerating and bragging and boasting, and praising himself that he could beat the old devil himself, they heard a bull bellowing and growling, and the first thing they knew he ran like mad at them; and these men hurried up a tree, and the great fighting man that was so handy with his fists climbed first of all, and got (placed) himself furtherest from the ground on the limbs. And he sat there and saw the bull tossing and throwing his baskets all about, and dancing on his things, and breaking to pieces all he had for his living. And whenever the wind blew he was afraid he would fall on the horns of the bull. And so they sat there till daybreak, when the man who looked after the cows came walking by and saw these fellows sitting like birds on the tree, and asked them what they were doing that for. So they told him about the bull, and he drove it away; and they came down and went on to the alehouse, for there never were two men in this country that wanted a drop of beer more than they. But after that day that thirsty man never boasted he could not be a frightened man. True.
GUDLO XLIV. THE GIPSY AND HIS THREE SWEETHEARTS.
Yeckorus a tāno mush kaired his cāmmoben ta trin juvas kett’nus an’ kek o’ the trin jinned yuv sus a pirryin’ ye waver dui. An ’covo ráklo jivved adrée a bitti tan pāsh the rikkorus side o’ the boro lun panni, an’ yeck rātti sār the chais welled shikri kett’nus a lester, an’ kek o’ the geeris jinned the wavers san lullerin adoi. So they jālled sār-sigán kett’nus, an’ rākkered, “Sarshan!” ta yeck chairus. An’ dovo ráklo didn’t jin what jūva kaumed lester ferridīrus, or kun yuv kaumed ye ferridīrus, so sār the shtor besht-a-lay sum, at the habbenescro, and yuv del len habben an’ levinor. Yeck hawed booti, but ye waver dui wouldn’t haw kek, yeck pii’d, but ye wāver dui wouldn’t pi chommany, ’cause they were sār hunnali, and sookeri an’ kūried. So the ráklo penned lengis, yuv sos atrash if yuv lelled a jūva ’at couldn’t haw, she wouldn’t jiv, so he rummored the rákli that hawed her hābben.
All’ers haw sār the hābben foki banders apré a tute, an’ tute’ll jāl sikker men dūsh an’ tukli.
TRANSLATION.
Once a young man courted three girls together, and none of the three knew he was courting the two others. And that youth lived in a little place near the side of the great salt water, and one night all the girls came at once together to him, and none of the girls knew the others were coming there. So they went all quick together, and said “Good evening,” (sarishan means really “How are you?”) at the same time. And that youth did not know which girl liked him best, or whom he loved best; so all the four sat down together at the table, and he gave them food and beer. One ate plenty, but the other two would eat nothing; one drank, but the other two would not drink something, because they were all angry, and grieved, and worried. So the youth told them he was afraid if he took a wife that could not eat, she would not live, so he married the girl that ate her food.