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Once a young man was playing well upon the violin, and a beautiful lady told him, "Your playing is as soft as cream." Good with good makes better. Yeckorus some plochto Rommany chals an' juvas were kellin' the pash-divvus by dood tall' a boro ker, and yeck penned the waver, "I'd be cammoben if dovo ker was mandy's."
But yeck pre the wavers penned mandy boot kushti cammoben, "Chichi, mor dukker your-kokero; we just welled alay acai from the ker to lel a bitti bath." An' she savvy'd sa kushto, but they all jalled avree glan mandy sar the bavol, an' tute was hatchin' pash a maudy sar the cheirus. So it pens, "when you dick ranis sar dovo, you'll muller kushto."
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?" When you del a mush cammoben to lel matchyas avree tute's panni, you'd better hatch adoi an' dick how he kairs it.
An' dovo sus kerro pash Bo-Peep a boro puvius adree bori chumures, pash Hastings in Sussex. When 'mugglers nasher an' Rommany chals latch, there's kek worser cammoben for it.
My chavo's nav was Horfer or Horferus, but the bitti chavis penned him Wacker. Well, yeck divvus pre the wellgooro o' the graias prasters, my juvo dicked a boro doll adree some hev of a buttika and penned, 'Dovo odoi dicks just like moro Wacker! So we penned him Wackerdoll, but a'ter my juvo mullered I rakkered him Wacker again, because Wackerdoll pet mandy in cammoben o' my poor juvo."
An' it was the sar covva with my dades nav if I dicked a mush with a nav that simmed leskers, mandy'd rakker him by a waver nav. For 'twould kair any mush wafro to shoon the navyas of the mullas a't 'were cammoben to him."
"Kushto," penned the Rommany chal, "for cammoben to tute, rya, I'll jal avree!" Once a policeman chased a Gipsy, and the Gipsy ran into the river, that was full of great pieces of floating ice, and there he stood up to his neck with only his head out. "Come out," cried a gentleman that pitied the poor man, "and we'll let you go!" "No," said the Gipsy; "I won't move."
And the same might have been said of Carolan, the Irish bard, who lived in poetry and died in whisky. The soul sleeping or dreaming away to God suggested an inquiry into the Gipsy idea of the nature of spirits. Can everybody see them, I wonder?" "Avo, rya, avo. Every mush can dick mullos if it's their cammoben to be dickdus. But 'dusta critters can dick mullos whether the mullos kaum it or kek.
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.
So they bitchered her for shurabun. I've got kek gry and can't lel no wongur to kin kek. My kamli chavi, if you could bitch me a few bars it would be cammoben. I rikkers my covvas apre mi dumo kenna.
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