Ruzlo mushis has boro sees.
I saw Lord Coventry at the Worcester races. He rode his own horse in the steeple-chase for the silver—no, it was a gold tankard, I think, but he lost.
It was that young gentleman who one day in his own park saw a Gipsy tent by the side of a hedge, and took a flying leap over tent, hedge, and all. “Ha, what’s here?” he cried, as he saw the little brown children; “a Gipsy’s tent!” And from that day he let that Gipsy stay as much as he pleased on his land.
Bold men have generous hearts.
GUDLO XXXVIII. OF MR BARTLETT’S LEAP.
Dovo’s sim to what they pens of Mr Bartlett in Glo’stershire, who had a fino tem pash Glo’ster an’ Bristol, where he jivved adree a boro ker. Kek mush never dicked so booti weshni juckalos or weshni kannis as yuv rikkered odoi. They prastered atut saw the drumyas sim as kanyas. Yeck divvus he was kisterin’ on a kushto grai, an’ he dicked a Rommany chal rikkerin’ a truss of gib-puss ‘pre lester dumo pral a bitti drum, an’ kistered ‘pre the pooro mush, puss an’ sar. I jins that puro mush better ‘n I jins tute, for I was a’ter yeck o’ his raklis yeckorus; he had kushti-dick raklis, an’ he was old Knight Locke. “Puro,” pens the rye, “did I kair you trash?” “I mang tute’s shunaben, rya,” pens Locke pauli; “I didn’t jin tute sus wellin’!” So puro Locke hatched odoi ’pre dovo tem sar his miraben, an’ that was a kushti covva for the puro Locke.
That is like what is told of Mr Bartlett in Gloucestershire, who had a fine place near Gloucester and Bristol, where he lived in a great house. No man ever saw so many foxes or pheasants as he kept there. They ran across all the paths like hens. One day he was riding on a fine horse, when he saw a Gipsy carrying a truss of wheat-straw on his back up a little path, and leaped over the poor man, straw and all. I knew that old man better than I know you, for I was after one of his daughters then; he had beautiful girls, and he was old Knight Locke. “Old fellow,” said the gentleman, “did I frighten you?” “I beg your pardon, sir,” said Locke after him; “I didn’t know you were coming!” So old Locke stayed on that land all his life, and that was a good thing for old Locke.
GUDLO XXXIX. THE GIPSY, THE PIG, AND THE MUSTARD.
Yeckorus a Rommany chal jalled to a boro givescroker sa’s the rye sus hawin’. And sikk’s the Rom wan’t a-dickin’, the rye all-sido pordered a kell-mallico pash kris, an’ del it to the Rommany chal. An’ sa’s the kris dantered adree his gullo, he was pash tassered, an’ the panni welled in his yakkas. Putched the rye, “Kun’s tute ruvvin’ ajaw for?” An’ he rakkered pauli, “The kris lelled mandys bavol ajaw.” Penned