Lavengro by George Borrow (read me a book txt) 📕

Tawno presently fell asleep. I was about to fall asleep also, when I heard the sound of music and song. Piramus was playing on the fiddle, whilst Mrs. Chikno, who had a voice of her own, was singing in tones sharp enough, but of great power, a gipsy song:251⁠—

Poisoning the Porker

By Mrs. Chikno

To mande shoon ye Romany chals
Who besh in the pus about the yag,
I’ll pen how we drab the baulo,
I’ll pen how we drab the baulo.

We jaws to the drab-engro ker,
Trin hors-worth there of drab we lels,
And when to the swety back we wels
We pens we’ll drab the baulo,
We’ll have a drab at the baulo.

And then we kairs the drab opré,
And then we jaws to the farming ker,
To mang a beti habben,
A beti poggado habben.

A rinkeno baulo there we dick,
And then we pens in Romano jib:
“Wust lis odoi opré ye chick,
And the baulo he will lel lis,
The baulo he will lel lis.”

Coliko, coliko saulo we
Apopli to the farming ker
Will wel and mang him mullo,
Will wel and mang his truppo.

And so we kairs, and so we kairs;
The baulo in the rarde mers;
We mang him on the saulo,
And rig to the tan the baulo.

And then we toves the wendror well
Till sore the wendror iuziou se,
Till kekkeno drab’s adrey lis,
Till drab there’s kek adrey lis.

And then his truppo well we hatch,
Kin levinor at the kitchema,
And have a kosko habben,
A kosko Romano habben.

The boshom engro kils, he kils,
The tawnie juva gils, she gils
A puro Romano gillie,
Now shoon the Romano gillie.

Which song I had translated in the following manner, in my younger days, for a lady’s album:⁠—

Listen to me ye Roman lads, who are seated in the straw about the fire, and I will tell how we poison the porker, I will tell how we poison the porker.

We go to the house of the poisonmonger,252 where we buy three pennies’ worth of bane, and when we return to our people, we say we will poison the porker; we will try and poison the porker.

We then make up the poison, and then we take our way to the house of the farmer, as if to beg a bit of victuals, a little broken victuals.

We see a jolly porker, and then we say in Roman language, “Fling the bane yonder amongst the dirt, and the porker soon will find it, the porker soon will find it.”

Early on the morrow, we will return to the farmhouse, and beg the dead porker, the body of the dead porker.

And so we do, even so we do; the porker dieth during the night; on the morrow we beg the porker, and carry to the tent the porker.

And then we wash the inside well, till all the inside is perfectly clean, till there’s no bane within it, not a poison grain within it.

And then we roast the body well, send for ale to the alehouse, and have a merry banquet, a merry Roman banquet.

The fellow with the fiddle plays, he plays; the little lassie sings, she sings an ancient Roman ditty; now hear the Roman ditty.

Song of the Broken Chastity

By Ursula

Penn’d the Romany chi ké laki dye,
“Miry dearie dye mi shom cambri!”
“And coin kerdo tute cambri,
Miry dearie chi, miry Romany chi?”
“O miry dye a boro rye,
A bovalo rye, a gorgiko rye,
Sos kistur pré a pellengo grye,
’Twas yov sos kerdo man cambri.”
“Tu tawnie vassavie lubbeny,
Tu chal from miry tan abri;
Had a Romany chal kair’d tute cambri,
Then I had penn’d ke tute chie,
But tu shan a vassavie lubbeny
With gorgikie rat to be cambri.”

“There’s some kernel in those songs, brother,” said Mr. Petulengro, when the songs and music were over.

“Yes,” said I; “they are certainly very remarkable songs. [I translated both long ago for a lady’s album.”

“A lady’s what, brother?”

“A lil in which she kept bits of song and poetry to show occasionally to young ladies.”

“You had no right to do that, brother; you had no right to let the ladies into the secrets of people who took you up when you were little better than half a fool. But what did the lady say to them?”

“As I have done just now, that they were remarkable songs, strongly expressive of the manners and peculiarities of a remarkable people.”

“Brother, she was a gentlewoman, and I forgive you.”]

“I say, Jasper, I hope you have not been drabbing baulor lately.”

“And suppose we have, brother, what then?”

“Why, it is a very dangerous practice, to say nothing of the wickedness of it.”

“Necessity has no law, brother.”

“That is true,” said I; “I have always said so, but you are not necessitous, and should not drab baulor.”

“And who told you we had been drabbing baulor?”

“Why, you have had a banquet of pork, and after the banquet, Mrs. Chikno sang a song about drabbing baulor, so I naturally thought you might have lately been engaged in such a thing.”

“Brother, you occasionally utter a word or two of common sense. It was natural for you to suppose, after seeing that dinner of pork, and hearing that song, that we had been drabbing baulor; I will now tell you that we have not been doing so. What have you to say to that?”

“That I am very glad of it.”

“Had you tasted that pork, brother, you would have found that it was sweet and tasty, which balluva that is drabbed can hardly be expected to be. We have no reason to drab baulor at present, we have money and credit; but necessity has no law. Our forefathers occasionally drabbed baulor; some of our people may still do such a thing, but only from compulsion.”

“I see,” said I; “and at your merry meetings you sing songs upon the compulsatory deeds of your people, alias, their villainous actions; and, after all, what would the stirring poetry of any nation be, but for its compulsatory deeds? Look at the poetry of Scotland, the heroic part, founded almost entirely on the