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.

’Pre yeck chairus a cooromengro was to coor, and a rye rakkered him, “Will tute mukk your kokero be koored for twenty bar?” Penned the cooromengro, “Will tute mukk mandy pogger your herry for a hundred bar?” “Kek,” penned the rye; “for if I did, mandy’d never pirro kushto ajaw.”  “And if I nashered a kooraben,” penned the engro, “mandy’d never praster kekoomi.”

Kammoben is kushtier than wongur.

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.

Pre yeck chairus a Rommany dye adree the wellgooro rakkered a rye to del laker trin mushi for kushto bak.  An’ he del it, an’ putchered laki, “If I bitcher my wongur a-mukkerin’ ’pre the graias, ki’ll manni’s bak be?” “My fino rye,” she penned, “the bak’ll be a collos-worth with mandy and my chavvis.”

Bak that’s pessured for is saw (sar) adoi.

TRANSLATION.

On a time a Gipsy mother at the fair asked a gentleman to give her a shilling for luck.  And he gave it, and asked her, “If I lose my money a-betting on the horses, where will my luck be?” “My fine gentleman,” she said, “the luck will be a shilling’s worth with me and my children.”

Luck that is paid for is always somewhere (literally, there).

GUDLO XI.  THE GIPSY TELLS OF THE CAT AND THE HARE.

Yeckorus the matchka jalled to dick her kako’s chavo the kanengro.  An’ there welled a huntingmush, an’ the matchka taddied up the choomber, pre durer, pre a rukk, an’ odoi she lastered a chillico’s nest.  But the kanengro prastered alay the choomber, longodurus adree the tem.

   Wafri bak kairs
      A choro mush ta jal alay,
   But it mukks a boro mush
      To chiv his kokero apre. {213}

TRANSLATION.

Once the cat went to see her cousin the hare.  And there came a hunter, and the cat scrambled up the hill, further up, up a tree, and there she found a bird’s nest.  But the hare ran down the hill, far down into the country.