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1022 The Pope’s lifestyle (La vita der Papa)
Translated by Peter Nicholas Dale


Me the Pope?! The Pope? Me? Ya think I’m a fool!
Don’cha know ut be’en a bootsmith’s much bedder by far?
I wanna live accorden ta me own lites, brother,
An not the way all the nations on earth’ud have ya rule.

Go an deprive a bloke a the pleasures uv his tool;
Nail his dingers down hard on a bulky seat,
Pack him off ta pracessions, run by the drumbeat,
With guards cuv’ren the coachdoor frum siteseers ut drool:

Bar him from the boozer, deny him a bet with the book,
Make him eke out a liven, scared oudduv his wits
A the barber, the doctor an’uv his very own cook:

Reckun that sorda life’ud give ya the horn, if ya cud choose?
As fa me, until I’m six foot under, mate, it sits
Fine with me just earnen a crust by patchen up shoes.

20/11/2000
The sonnet is translated into "Strine", the dialect spoken in Australia down to the 1960s.

 


1022 The Pope’s lifestyle (Orthographically normalized version)
Translated by Peter Nicholas Dale


Me the Pope?! The Pope? Me? You think I’m a fool!
Don’t you know that being a bootsmith’s much better by far?
I want to live according to my own lights, brother,
And not the way all the nations on earth’d have you rule.

Go and deprive a bloke of the pleasures of his tool;
Nail his dingers down hard on a bulky seat,
Pack him off to processions, run by the drumbeat,
With guards covering the coach-door from sightseers that drool:

Bar him from the boozer, deny him a bet with the book,
Make him eke out a living, scared out of his wits
Of the barber, the doctor and of his very own cook:

Reckon that sort of life’d give you the horn, if you could choose?
As for me, until I’m six foot under, mate, it sits
Fine with me just earning a crust by patching up shoes.

20/11/2000