I latchered the raias mush adree the kitchema; so we got matto odoi, an’ were jallin’ kerri alay the drum when we dicked the raias wardo a-wellin’.  So we jalled sig ‘dusta parl the bor, an’ gavered our kokeros odoi adree the puv till the rye had jessed avree.

I dicked adovo rye dree the sala, and he putched mandy what I’d kaired the cauliko, pash kangry.  I pookered him I’d pii’d dui or trin curros levinor and was pash matto.  An’ he penned mandy, “My mush was matto sar tute, and I nashered him.”  I pookered him ajaw, “I hope not, rya, for such a bitti covvo as dovo; an’ he aint cammoben to piin’ levinor, he’s only used to pabengro, that don’t kair him matto.”  But kek, the choro mush had to jal avree.  An’ that’s sar I can rakker tute about my jallin’ to kangry.

TRANSLATION.

Did I ever go to church?  Yes, twice, and sat down there.  I was in the lower land of all (Cornwall), and a gentleman asked me to go to church, and I went.  And all the ladies and gentlemen looked at me as I went in.  So I sat quietly among some men and looked up on the wall above my head, and there were a deer and a rabbit cut in the stone, beautifully done.  I heard the clergyman speaking; and when the sermon was ended (literally, made), I came out and went down the road to the alehouse.

I found the gentleman’s servant in the alehouse; so we got drunk there, and were going home down the road when we saw the gentleman’s carriage coming.  So we went quickly enough over the hedge, and hid ourselves there in the field until the gentleman was gone.

I saw the gentleman in the morning, and he asked me what I had done the day before, after church.  I told him I’d drunk two or three cups of ale and was half tipsy.  And he said, “My man was drunk as you, and I sent him off.”  I told him then, “I hope not, sir, for such a little thing as that; and he is not used to drink ale, he’s only accustomed to cider, that don’t intoxicate him.”  But no, the poor man had to go away. And that’s all I can tell you about my going to church.

GUDLO XIX.  WHAT THE LITTLE GIPSY GIRL TOLD HER BROTHER.

Penned the tikni Rommani chavi laki pal, “More mor the pishom, ’cause she’s a Rommani, and kairs her jivaben jallin’ parl the tem dukkerin’ the ruzhas and lellin’ the gudlo avree ’em, sar moro dye dukkers the ranis.  An’ ma wusser bars at the rookas, ‘cause they’re kaulos, an’ kaulo ratt is Rommany ratt.  An’ maun pogger the bawris, for yuv rikkers his tan pre the dumo, sar moro puro dadas, an’ so yuv’s Rommany.”

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).