All our party ate with a good appetite, except myself, who, feeling
rather melancholy that day, had little desire to eat. I did not,
like the others, partake of the pork, but got my dinner entirely
off the body of a squirrel which had been shot the day before by a
chal of the name of Piramus, who, besides being a good shot, was
celebrated for his skill in playing on the fiddle. During the
dinner a horn filled with ale passed frequently around; I drank of
it more than once, and felt inspirited by the draughts. The repast
concluded, Sylvester and his children departed to their tent, and
Mr. Petulengro, Tawno, and myself, getting up, went and lay down
under a shady hedge, where Mr. Petulengro, lighting his pipe, began
to smoke, and where 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 gypsy song:-


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 horsworth there of drab we lels,
And when to the swety back we wels