It was Mr. Petulengro, who was here diverting himself with several of his comrades; they all received me with considerable frankness. ‘Sit down, brother,’ said Mr. Petulengro, ‘and take a cup of good ale.’
I sat down. ‘Your health, gentlemen,’ said I, as I took the cup which Mr. Petulengro handed to me.
‘Aukko tu pios adrey Rommanis. Here is your health in Rommany, brother,’ said Mr. Petulengro; who, having refilled the cup, now emptied it at a draught.
‘Your health in Rommany, brother,’ said Tawno Chikno, to whom the cup came next.
‘The Rommany Rye,’ said a third.
‘The Gypsy gentlemen,’ exclaimed a fourth, drinking.
And then they all sang in chorus:—
‘Here the Gypsy gemman see,
With his Roman jib and his rome and dree—
Rome and dree, rum and dry
Rally round the Rommany Rye.’
‘And now, brother,’ said Mr. Petulengro, ‘seeing that you have drunk and been drunken, you will perhaps tell us where you have been, and what about?’
‘I have been in the Big City,’ said I, ‘writing lils’ [books].