On a day a poor man had a dog that used to steal things and carry them home for his master—meat, money, watches, and spoons. A gentleman bought the dog, and made a great deal of money by showing him at fairs.
Where rich men can make money honestly, poor men have to steal.
GUDLO IX. A STORY OF THE PRIZE-FIGHTER AND THE GENTLEMAN.
’Pré yeck chairus a cooroméngro was to coor, and a rye rākkered him, “Will tute mukk your kókero be koored for twenty bar?” Penned the cooroméngro, “Will tute mukk mandy pogger your hérry for a hundred bar?” “Kek,” penned the rye; “for if I did, mandy’d never pirro kushto ajaw.” “And if I nashered a kóoraben,” penned the éngro, “mandy’d never praster kekóomi.”
Kāmmoben is kushtier than wóngur.
TRANSLATION.
On a time a prize-fighter was to fight, and a gentleman asked him, “Will you sell the fight” (i.e., let yourself be beaten) “for twenty pounds?” Said the prize-fighter, “Will you let me break your leg for a hundred pounds?” “No,” said the gentleman; “for if I did, I should never walk well again.” “And if I lost a fight,” said the prize-fighter (literally, master, doer), “I could never ‘run’ again.”
Credit is better than money.
GUDLO X. OF THE GENTLEMAN AND THE OLD GIPSY WOMAN.
Pré yeck chairus a Rommany dye adrée the wellgooro rākkered a rye to del lāker trin mushi for kushto bāk. An’ he del it, an’ putchered láki, “If I bitcher my wóngur a-múkkerin’ ’pré the graias, ki’ll manni’s bāk be?” “My fino rye,” she penned, “the bāk’ll be a collos-worth with mandy and my chávvis.”