TRANSLATION.
Said the little Gipsy girl to her brother, “Don’t kill the bee, because she is a Gipsy, and makes her living going about the country telling fortunes to the flowers and taking honey out of them, as our mother tells fortunes to the ladies. And don’t throw stones at the rooks, because they are dark, and dark blood is Gipsy blood. And don’t crush the snail, for he carries his tent on his back, like our old father” (i.e., carries his home about, and so he too is Rommany).
GUDLO XX. HOW CHARLEY LEE PLAYED AT PITCH-AND-TOSS.
I jinned a tāno mush yeckorus that nashered sār his wongur ’drée the toss-ring. Then he jālled kerri to his dádas’ kanyas and lelled pange bar avree. Paul’ a bitti chairus he dicked his dádas an’ pookered lester he’d lelled pange bar avree his gunnas. But yuv’s dádas penned, “Jāl an, kair it ajaw and win some wongur againus!” So he jālled apopli to the toss-ring an’ lelled sār his wongur pauli, an’ pange bar ferridearer. So he jālled ajaw kerri to the tan, an’ dicked his dádas beshtin’ alay by the rikk o’ the tan, and his dádas penned, “Sā did you keravit, my chavo?” “Kushto, dádas. I lelled sār my wongur pauli; and here’s tute’s wongur acäi, an’ a bar for tute an’ shtār bar for mi-kokero.”
An’ that’s tācho as ever you tool that pen in tute’s waster—an’ dovo mush was poor Charley Lee, that’s mullo kennā.
TRANSLATION.
I knew a little fellow once that lost all his money in the toss-ring (i.e., at pitch-and-toss). Then he went home to his father’s sacks and took five pounds out. After a little while he saw his father and told him he’d taken five pounds from his bags. But his father said, “Go on, spend it and win some more money!” So he went again to the toss-ring and got all his money back, and five pounds more. And going home, he saw his father sitting by the side of the tent, and his father said, “How did you succeed (i.e., do it), my son?” “Very well, father. I got all my money back; and here’s your money now, and a pound for you and four pounds for myself.”
And that’s true as ever you hold that pen in your hand—and that man was poor Charley Lee, that’s dead now.
GUDLO XXI. OF THE TINKER AND THE KETTLE.
A petulamengro hatched yeck divvus at a givéscro kér, where the rāni del him māss an’ tood. While he was hawin’ he dicked a kekávi sār chicklo an’ bongo, pāshall a boro hev adrée, an’ he putchered, “Del it a mandy an’ I’ll lel it avree for chichi, ’cause you’ve been so kushto an’ kāmmoben to mandy.” So she del it a lester, an’ he jālled avree for trin cooricus, an’ he keravit apré, an’ kaired it pauno sār rupp. Adovo he welled akovo drum pauli, an’ jessed to the same kér, an’ penned, “Dick acai at covi kushti kekávi! I del shove trin mushis for it, an’ tu shall lel it for the same wongur, ’cause you’ve been so kushto a mandy.”