Gypsy Dictionary [29]
and had jall'd about the tem, but had been knau for buter than trianda beshor jibbing in Lundra. He had been romado, but his romadi had been mullee bute, bute cheeros; she had dinn'd leste yeck chavo, so was knau a heftwardesh beshengro, dicking bute puroder than yo cocoro, ta kanau lying naflo of a tatti naflipen drey yeck of the wardes. He penn'd that at yeck cheeros he could kair dosta luvvu by skammin-engring, but kanau from his bori puripen could scarcely kair yeck tringurushee a divvus. "Ladjipen si," I penn'd, "that a mush so puro as tute should have to booty." "Kosko zi! kosko zi!" he penn'd; "Paracrow Dibble that mande is dosta ruslo to booty, and that mande has koskey camomescres; I shan't be tugnis to jib to be a shel beshengro, though tatchipen si if mande was a rye mande would kair kek booty." His chaveskoe chavo, a trianda ta pansch beshengro, well'd kanau ta rokkar'd mansar. He was a misto dicking ta rather misto riddo mush, sar chimouni jinneymengreskey drey lescro mui. He penn'd that his dadeskoe dad was a fino puro mush, savo had dick'd bute, and that dosta, dosta foky well'd odoy to shoon lescre rokkrapenes of the puro cheeros, of the Franciskie ta Amencanskie chingaripenes, and of what yo had dick'd drey wafu tems. That tatchipen to pen there was a cheeros when his drom was dur from kosko, for that he camm'd to cour, sollohaul ta kair himself motto, but that kanau he was a wafu mush, that he had muk'd sore curopen and wafudo rokkrapen, and, to corauni sore, was yeck tee-totaller, yo cocoro having kair'd leste sollohaul that he would pi kekomi neither tatti panie nor levinor: that he jall'd sore the curques either to congri or Tabernacle, and that tho' he kek jinn'd to del oprey he camm'd to shoon the Miduveleskoe lil dell'd oprey to leste; that the panishkie ryor held leste drey boro camopen, and that the congriskoe rashi, and oprey sore Dr. P. of the Tabernacle had a boro opinionos of leste, ta penn'd that he would hal the Miduveleskoe habben sar moro Araunyo Jesus drey the kosko tem opral. Mande putch'd whether the Romany Chals well'd often to dick leste? He penn'd that they well'd knau and then to pen Koshto divvus and Sarshin? but dov' odoy was sore; that neither his dadeskoe dad nor yo cocoro camm'd to dick lende, because they were wafodu foky, perdo of wafodupen and bango camopen, ta oprey sore bute envyous; that drey the wen they jall'd sore cattaney to the ryor, and rokkar'd wafodu of the puno mush, and pukker'd the ryor to let lester a coppur which the ryor had lent leste, to kair tatto his choveno puro truppo drey the cheeros of the trashlo shillipen; that tatchipen si their wafodupen kaired the puro mush kek dosh, for the ryor pukker'd lende to jal their drom and be aladge of their cocore, but that it was kek misto to pensch that yeck was of the same rat as such foky. After some cheeros I dinn'd the puro mush a tawno cuttor of rupe, shook leste by ye wast, penn'd that it would be mistos amande to dick leste a shel-beshengro, and jaw'd away keri.
THOMAS HERNE
On the twenty-second day of June, in the year one thousand eight hundred and sixty-three, I went to see Thomas Herne, an old Gypsy, of whom I had heard a great deal. He was living at a place called Mr. Groby's Court, not far from the Potteries and the Shepherd's Bush. When I saw him, he was sitting on the ground by his door, mending the broken bottom of a chair. His house was half-house half-waggon, and stood in a corner of the court; not far from it were two or three other waggon-houses. There was a disagreeable smell of hogs, though I saw none. I said, "How you do?" in the Gypsy tongue, and we had discourse together. He was a tall man, as I could see, though he was sitting. But, though tall, he was not stout, and his hands were small as those of a lady. His face was as red as a winter apple, and his hair was rather red than grey. He had a small hat on his head, and he was not badly dressed. On my asking him how tall he was, and how old, he said that he was six foot high, all but an inch, and that he was
THOMAS HERNE
On the twenty-second day of June, in the year one thousand eight hundred and sixty-three, I went to see Thomas Herne, an old Gypsy, of whom I had heard a great deal. He was living at a place called Mr. Groby's Court, not far from the Potteries and the Shepherd's Bush. When I saw him, he was sitting on the ground by his door, mending the broken bottom of a chair. His house was half-house half-waggon, and stood in a corner of the court; not far from it were two or three other waggon-houses. There was a disagreeable smell of hogs, though I saw none. I said, "How you do?" in the Gypsy tongue, and we had discourse together. He was a tall man, as I could see, though he was sitting. But, though tall, he was not stout, and his hands were small as those of a lady. His face was as red as a winter apple, and his hair was rather red than grey. He had a small hat on his head, and he was not badly dressed. On my asking him how tall he was, and how old, he said that he was six foot high, all but an inch, and that he was