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Sam´s Rhyme of the Troll / Samova rýmovačka o zlobrovi


Troll sat alone on his seat of stone,
And munched and mumbled a bare old bone;
For many a year he had gnawed it near,
For meat was hard to come by.
Done by! Gum by!
In a cave in the hills he dwelt alone,
And meat was hard to come by.

Up came Tom with his big boots on.
Said he to Troll:'Pray, what is yon?
For it looks like the shin o' my nuncle Tim.
As should be a-lyin' in graveyard.
Caveyard! Paveyard!
This many a year has Tim been gone,
And I thought he were lyin' in graveyard.'

'My lad,' said Troll,'this bone I stole.
But what be bones that lie in a hole?
Thy nuncle was dead as a lump o' lead,
Afore I found his shinbone.
Tinbone! Tinbone!
He can spare a share for a poor old troll,
For he don't need his shinbone.'

Said Tom:'I don't see why the likes o' thee
Without axin' leave should go makin' free
With the shank or the shin o' my father's kin;
So hand the old bone over!
Rover! Trover!
Though dead he be, it belongs to he;
So hand the old bone over!'

'For a couple o' pins,' says Troll, and grins,
'I'll eat thee too, and gnaw thy shins.
A bit o' fresh meat will go down sweet!
I'll try my teeth on thee now.
Hee now! See now!
I'm tired o' gnawing old bones and skins;
I'va a mind to dine on thee now.'

But just as he thought his dinner was caught,
He found his hands had hold of naught.
Before he could mind, Tom slipped behind
And gave him the boot to larn him.
Warn him! Darn him!
A bump o' the boot on the seat, Tom thought,
Would be the way to larn him.

But harder than stone is the flesh and bone
Of a troll that sits in the hills alone.
As well set your boot to the mountain's root,
For the seat of a troll don't feel it.
Peel it! Heal it!
Old Troll laughed, when he heard Tom groan,
And he knew his toes could feel it.

Tom's leg is game, since home he came,
And his bootless foot is lasting lame;
But Troll don't care, and he's still there
With the bone he boned from its owner.
Doner! Boner!
Troll's old seat is still the same,
And the bone he boned from its owner!



Sám na skále zlobřík sedí,
holé kosti si tam hledí;
zleva zprava ohlodává,
vždyť maso je dnes vzácnost.
Drž kost! Jde host!
Žije sám a všichni vědí,
že je maso vzácnost.

Přijde k němu v botách Tomáš,
povídá mu: "Co to děláš?
Není to noha strýčka Boba,
co na hřbitově leží?
Stěží! Běží!
Když umřel, no tak přece čekáš,
že na hřbitově leží."

Povídá zlobřík: "Milej hochu,
tu kost jsem sebral. Mysli trochu!
Byl hlavou vzhůru, než jsem ji uzmul,
k čemupak mu byla?
Síla! Žila!
Já měl hlad. Proč by mi nedal nohu,
když mu na nic nebyla?"

Říká Tom: "Je to drzost přeci,
bez dovolení brát nám věci.
Dej sem tu kost, než dostanu zlost,
a nehamtej mi po ní!
Koní! Honí!
Neměls ji krást mýmu mrtvýmu strejci,
a teprv ne hamtat po ní!"

Šklebí se zlobřík: "Pojď se vsadit,
že si tě chytnu. Pak můžeš radit,
jestli tě vařit, anebo smažit,
nebo jen tak schroustnout.
Kousnout! Tloustnout!
Doufám, že ti to nebude vadit,
až tě půjdu zchroustnout."

Jenomže zlobřík, ouvej, pane,
maso má tvrdší nežli kámen!
Nakopnout kopec bylo by totéž,
zrovna tolik cítí!
Kvítí! Chytí!
Tom skučí, že má s nohou ámen,
on tu ránu cítí!

Zlobr se směje, Tom běží domů,
vrací se s prázdnou a kulhavý k tomu;
zlobřík si tam dál sedí sám
s ukradeným hnátem.
Blátem! Mlátem!
Zadnici má jak kámen z lomu
a sedí si tam s hnátem.



Zveřejněno: 28. září 2004
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