Three or four years ago one of the Smiths found a great dead pig in a lane. And just as he found it, some Gipsies came by and saw this Rommany. So Smith bawled out to them, “A fine pig! all fat! come in the morning and you shall have half.” And they returned in the morning and got half, all right. And ever since it has been a saying with the Gipsies, “It’s all fat; come in the morning and get your half.”
GUDLO XLI. THE GIPSY’S FISH-HOOK.
Yeckorus a rye pookered a Rommany chal he might jal matchyin’ ’dree his panni, and he’d del lester the cammoben for trin mushi, if he’d only matchy with a bongo sivv an’ a punsy-ran. So the Rom jalled with India-drab kaired apre moro, an’ he drabbered saw the matchas adree the panni, and rikkered avree his wardo sar pordo. A boro cheirus pauli dovo, the rye dicked the Rommany chal, an’ penned, “You choramengro, did tute lel the matchas avree my panni with a hook?” “Ayali, rya, with a hook,” penned the Rom pale, werry sido. “And what kind of a hook?” “Rya,” rakkered the Rom, “it was yeck o’ the longi kind, what we pens in amandis jib a hookaben” (i.e., huckaben or hoc’aben).
When you del a mush cammoben to lel matchyas avree tute’s panni, you’d better hatch adoi an’ dick how he kairs it.
Once a gentleman told a Gipsy he might fish in his pond, and he would give him permission to do so for a shilling, but that he must only fish with a hook and a fishing-pole (literally, crooked needle). So the Gipsy went with India-drab (juice of the berries of Indicus cocculus) made up with bread, and poisoned all the fish in the pond, and carried away his waggonful. A long time after, the gentleman met the Gipsy, and said, “You thief, did you catch the fish in my pond with a hook?” “Yes, sir, with a hook,” replied the Gipsy very quietly. “And what kind of a hook?” “Sir,” said the Gipsy, “it was one of the long kind, what we call in our language a hookaben” (i.e., a lie or trick).
When you give a man leave to fish in your pond, you had better be present and see how he does it.
GUDLO XLII. THE GIPSY AND THE SNAKE.
If you more the first sappa you dicks, tute’ll more the first enemy you’ve got. That’s what ’em pens, but I don’t jin if it’s tacho or nettus. And yeckorus there was a werry wafro mush that was allers a-kairin’ wafri covvabens. An’ yeck divvus he dicked a sap in the wesh, an’ he prastered paller it with a bori churi adree lester waster and chinned her sherro apre. An’ then he rakkered to his kokerus, “Now that I’ve mored the sap, I’ll lel the jivaben of my wenomest enemy.” And just as he penned dovo lav he delled his pirro atut the danyas of a rukk, an’ pet alay and chivved the churi adree his bukko. An’ as he was beshin’ alay a-mullerin’ ’dree the weshes, he penned to his kokerus, “Avali, I dicks kenna that dovo’s tacho what they pookers about morin’ a sappa; for I never had kek worser ennemis than I’ve been to mandy’s selfus, and what wells of morin’ innocen hanimals is kek kushtoben.”