what then oor Kornies

what then

Vertalings in die woordeboek Engels - Kornies

pandra ytho

voorbeelde

what then
/ pandra ytho / / /

22Pilate saith unto them, What then shall I do unto Jesus which is called Christ? They all say, Let him be crucified.
22Yn-medh Pilat dhedha, ‘Pandr'a wrav vy orth Yesu yw gelwys Krist?’ I oll a leveris, ‘Bedhes krowsys!’

‘Then what happened after Bilbo escaped from him? Do you know that?’
‘Ytho, pandr’a hwarva wosa Bylbo dhe dhiank diworto? A wodhes’ta henna?’

What can we then think or devise that God might have done more for us in our creation than herein he did?
Pandra allsen ni prederi fatell ylli Dyw gul ragon yn agan kreashyon dell wrug-a gul?

What has happened since then?
Pandra hwarva a-dhia ena?

What's the garage like then? It's fine.
Fatell yw an karrji ytho? Splann yw!

What's the garage like then? It's fine.
Fatel yw an karrji ytho? Splann yw!

What's the garage like then? It's fine.
FSS: Fatel yw an karrji ytho? Splann yw! / KK: Fatell yw an karrji ytho? Splann yw!

c. about, c. to pass bos composys ♦ then what had been spoken of came to pass nena a veu composys a veu cowsys WR; dos + ha + vn
c. about, c. to pass bos composys ♦ then what had been spoken of came to pass nena a veu composys a veu cowsys WR; dos + ha + vn

What are you doing tonight, then?
Pandr’a wre’ta haneth, ytho?

What are you doing tonight, then? /
Pandr’a wre’ta haneth, ytho? /

17“But if, in seeking to be justified in Christ, we Jews find ourselves also among the sinners, doesn’t that mean that Christ promotes sin? Absolutely not! 18If I rebuild what I destroyed, then I really would be a lawbreaker.
17Mes mars on ni, neb a hwila bos justifiys yn Krist, agan honan kevys dhe vos peghadoryon, yw Krist ytho menyster a begh? Bynner re bo! 18Rag mar tastrehavav an taklow a dhistruis vy, my a dhiskwa my ow honan dhe vos treuspasser.

What sort of stamp do you have then?
Py par stamp eus genes, ytho?

fulfilled a. composys ♦ then was f. what had been spoken nena a veu composys a veu cowsys WR; so it could be f. m'alja bos composys WR
fulfilled a. composys ♦ then was f. what had been spoken nena a veu composys a veu cowsys WR; so it could be f. m'alja bos composys WR

prophet n. profet m. -ys WR, TH. Replaces earlier profes ~ profus, SWF profos, which may neverthess be used; the p. David ema an profet Davit TH ♦ then what the p. J. had spoken of was fufilled nena a veu composys a veu cowsys gen Jerman an profet WR
prophet n. profet m. -ys WR, TH. Replaces earlier profes ~ profus, SWF profos, which may neverthess be used; the p. David ema an profet Davit TH ♦ then what the p. J. had spoken of was fufilled nena a veu composys a veu cowsys gen Jerman an profet WR

Even then he scarcely understood what this indicated, until he heard a muffled grating sound and saw the black mark jerk forward an inch or so.
Skant ny gonvedhas ev hwath pandr'a styryas hemma bys pan glewas ev son ow rathella yn kosel ha gweles an merk du skwychya yn-rag meusva po diw.

They wished to go then when they were not pleased with what I said.
I a vynnas mos y'n eur na pan nag ens pes da gans ow hows.

‘Then I bet it wasn’t an inch. What he saw was an elm tree, as like as not.’
My a vynn kenwystla er y bynn. Dell yw gwirhaval, elowenn o an pyth a welas ev.'

6Now, brothers and sisters, I have applied these things to myself and Apollos for your benefit, so that you may learn from us the meaning of the saying, “Do not go beyond what is written.” Then you will not be puffed up in being a follower of one of us over against the other. 7For who makes you different from anyone else? What do you have that you did not receive? And if you did receive it, why do you boast as though you did not?
6My re gewsis an taklow ma, breder, a-dro dhymmo vy hag a-dro dhe Apollos rag agas les, dredhon may tyskowgh styr an lavar ‘Travyth dres an pyth yw skrifys’, ma na vowgh hwi omhwythys a-barth an eyl erbynn y gila. 7Rag piw a wel dha vos arbennik? Ha pandra a'th eus na dhegemmersys? Ha mara'n degemmersys, prag y fostydh, kepar ha pan na dhegemmersys?

Then Herod, when he had privily called the wise men, enquired of them diligently what time the star appeared.
Nena Herod, pan wrug ev privedh kreia an dus fur, ev a wofednas dhortans sur pana termyn wrug an ster diskwedhes.

‘Good heavens!’ said Frodo. ‘I thought I had been both careful and clever. I don’t know what Gandalf would say. Is all the Shire discussing my departure then?’
‘Re’n ebrenn a-wartha!’ a leveris Frodo. ‘My a dybis my dhe vos ha war ha skentel. Ny wonn an pyth a lavarsa Gandalf. Eus dadhel yn kever ow diberthans oll a-dreus an Shayr ytho?’

“So, where’s the fucking army?” I said. “Their helicopters appeared on day one, hovered overhead for a few hours and then pissed off. What the hell use is that?” A good question, thought Paul but neither of us was Hannibal nor that famous Chinese military tactician whose name I can never remember. (Sung Tzu?) What did we know about military stuff? Well, actually, I’d been in the Army Cadet Corps for a couple of years – toy soldiers, if you like. I’d been on a few overnight bivouacs, listened to a few lectures from regular army guys who were just back from ‘Nam. That set me, ever so marginally, ahead of Paul – and I said so. “Okay then, Hannibal,” he said, only with a hint of sarcasm. “Tell us what you’d do if you were in charge of the Australian Army” Er? “The problem is unprecedented and spreading rapidly,” I started. “So, I’d abandon those who had already been affected and concentrate on containment.” “Hmm,” said Paul. “All the evidence suggest they have, in fact done precisely that. So, what then?” “I’d call for help. The problem is too big for our forces alone – we’d need the Yanks. And they’d come because they wouldn’t want the problem to spread beyond our borders – and don’t forget that all our borders are sea borders. So, the infection could potentially be stopped from spreading overseas if enough effort is put into the problem while it is still in Australia. Block up the air and sea ports, for starters.” Paul agreed that this made sense: “But where are all the Yanks?” “They’d still be coming,” I said. “By and large, it takes time to gear up for a war – even one like this. And don’t forget – unlike us – their best troops are still bogged down in Vietnam. There’s still a war on there, you know.” (This was before the Fall of Saigon in 1975 – as you will have guessed.) “And our own troops?” asked Paul.
Ytho, ple’ma an lu euthyk?” yn-medhav. “Y teuth aga eskelli-tro an kynsa dydh ha bargesi a-vann nebes euryow – hag ena i a fias dhe’n fo. Py par devnydh yw henna?” Kwestyon da a brederis Powl mes nyns o naneyl na y gila yntredhon Hannibal (na an taktygyth Chinek na, meur y vri, na allav nevra an hanow perthi kov anodho). (Sung Tzu?) Pyth a wodhyen ni a-dro dhe’n taklow breselyek? Wel, yn hwir, my re via esel Bagas Prentys-Soudoryon Ostrali dres dew vlydhen – ‘soudoryon-wariell’, dell leverys. My re wrussa nebes gwerselvaow y’n gwylvos ha goslowes orth arethow res gans an soudoryon wir neb a dhehwelsa a-gynsow dhiworth ‘Nam. Ytho, ow skians vy o nebes gwella es skians Powl – gans temmik, dhe’n lyha. My a leveris yndella orto. “Da lowr, a Hannibal,” yn-medh ev, gans marnas tamm kows asper. “Lavar orthymm pyth a wrelles jy mar pia dhis charj an Lu Ostralek.” A? “Nyns eus bleynyans vyth dhe’n kudynn ma, uskis y leshans lemmyn,” a dhallathis vy. “Ytho, my a forsak’sa an re a via tochyes gans an klevesans seulabrys - ha gul devnydh a’m kerthow dh’y gontaynya.” “Hmm,” yn-medh Powl. “Oll an dustuni a gampoell an lu dhe wul poran an traow na. Ytho, pyth a wrusses jy ena?” “My a wrussa galow rag gweres. An kudynn ma yw re veur rag agan luyow diogoledh unnsell – y fia res a’n Yankis.” Hag y tothyens i drefenn na vynnnsens an kudynn dhe omlesa dres agan emlow – ha porth kov a’gan emlow oll dhe vos emlow an mor. Ytho, possybyl a via hedhi an klevesans mar fe strivyans lowr rag gwitha an kudynn yn Ostrali. Yn kynsa le, y fia res stoppya oll an daromres der an porthow, y’ga mysk an ayrborthow.” Akordyes o Powl bos fur an tyvbyans ma: “Byttegyns, ple’ma oll an Yankis?” “Y fiens i hwath ow tos,” yn-medhav. “Dre vras, res yw termyn rag pareusi gwerrya – ha kyn fe kepar ha’n huni ma. Ha, porth kov arta aga gwella soudoryon dhe vos hwath glenys y’n stag Vietnam – dihaval dh’agan soudoryon agan honan. Yma hwath bresel ena, dell wodhesta.” (Yth esa an hwarvosow ma kyns Koedh Saigon yn 1975 – dell yllowgh dismygi.) “Ha’gan soudoryon agan honan?” a wovynnas Powl.

It was still dark and David and I had, I guessed, about an hour ahead of us, stumbling through the thick bush to gain my objective. I hoped that my mental picture of the lay of the land – that I had formed some years previously while on patrol as an Army Cadet – had remained sufficiently accurate. If not, the confidence I had just shown to the Sergeant could turn out to be mere bravado, particularly when the tracker dogs arrived from Melbourne. Before Puckapunyal Army Base had been set up by the military (during the first World War) there had been a fair bit of (comparatively unsuccessful) mining activity in the area. Once the military had taken over, of course, this had all ceased – and, given the lack of genuine mineral ‘strikes’ in the area, no-one had been particularly disappointed by this government decision. People quickly forgot the modest legacy of mining that the area once had. When I was a boy soldier, leading my rag-tag squad of schoolboys through the dense bushland of the Scrub Hill area, we got lost – naturally. We deviated from the planned route by many miles and were unable to make our way back to camp until hours after the time allotted for the navigation exercise had expired. The teachers and the Army instructor were very unhappy with us – and, in particular, with me – since I was the nominal leader of the squad. (Lucky squad!) Why had we gotten lost? I had absorbed keenly the navigation lessons provided to us by the regular army guys and I knew very well how to read a detailed topographic map. I also knew how to use a modern, rugged and highly accurate prismatic compass. What then had been the problem? The fucking Bren gun had been the problem! Yes, you heard it right. The Army let a bunch of stupid kids wander about the Australian bush with a Bren Gun. For the uninitiated, this is a heavy machine gun of World War II vintage – old but absolutely lethal.
Hwath tewl o hag yth esa dhymm ha Davydh, dell grysyn, ogas dhe’n our ow trebuchya der an gwylvos tew rag drehedhes ow amkan. Govenek o dhymm y trigsa kler lowr y’m brys skeusenn fas a’n pow. Homma re via furvyes nans o nebes blydhynnyow ha my patrolyes gans bagas prentys- soudoryon. Mar nyns esa kler lowr, ny via travyth saw bostyans an hardhder a dhiskwedhsen dhe’n Serjont, yn arbennik pan dhothya an keun-helerghi dhiworth Melbourne. Kyns bos fondyes Selva Pukkapunyal gans an awtoritys (dres blydhynnyow an Kynsa Bresel an Bys) y fia ena meur a valweyth – na via sewenus dre vras. Pan via kemmerys an tiryow gans an awtoritys breselek, oll an balweyth re hedhsa, heb mar. Dres henna, drefenn fowt trovyansow moen rych ynna, ny via meur a dhiswaytyans kawsys gans an ervirans governansel ma. Yn berrdermyn, peub re ankovsa istori kott a valweyth y’n tiryow na. Pan esen mab-souder, ow ledya ow fara a skolyers ankempenn der an gwylvos tew a-dro dhe Vre an Krann, ni eth ha bos kellys – heb mar. Ni a dreylyas a- dhiworth an fordh dewlys – lies mildir a-ves, yn hwir – hag ytho ny yllyn dehweles dh’agan kamp bys pan dremensa ouryow wosa an termyn rag an oberenn-navigasyon ma. Nyns o lowen genen an dhyskadoryon skolyek (na byth namoy o an dyskador an lu) – yn arbennik, nyns ens i lowen genev drefenn ow bos hembrenkyas hanwel an para. (Ass o feusik an para!) Prag y hylsen ha bos kellys? My re lonksa dihwans an dyskansow navigasyon proviyes dhyn gans soudoryon gemmyn hag ytho my a wodhya yn ta dell o redyes mappa topografek, meur y vanylyon. Dres henna, y hwodhyen keffrys dell o devnydhyes kompas kenkeynek, meur y nerth ha’y gewerder. Ytho, pyth re via an kudynn? An gonn Bren euthyk re via an kudynn! Ya, ty re’n redyas yn ewn. Lu Ostralek re assa bagas a vebyon wokki dhe wandra oll a-dro an gwylvos Ostralek ow toen gonn Bren. Rag an re anurdhyes, hemm o jynn-setha poes ow tos dhiworth oes an Nessa Bresel an Bys – koth mes ladhadow yn tien.

My cousin didn’t want to tell his mother what had happened. There wasn’t much blood. But then my finger started to swell up and the pain became worse. I didn’t know if the pellet was still in my finger or not.
Ny vynna ow henderow derivas dh’y vamm an pyth re hwarvsa. Nyns esa meur a woos. Mes ena ow bys a dhallathas hwedhi ha’n payn a dheuth ha bos gweth. Ny wodhyen mars esa an bellen y’m bys hwath, po nyns esa.

It was only when the heavy machine-guns were being set up that the zombies started rushing at the troops in the vain hope of a fresh feed. What then followed was the familiar carnage that I had witnessed at the University massacre. The zombies were blown to pieces with several rounds from bazookas and those that made it through those blasts were cut to bits by light machine gun fire. (Sten guns? Don’t know – not sure they were still being used in the early 1970’s by regular soldiers.) It was all over at the Fern Tree Gully town hall before the heavy machine guns were even set up and operative. The Aussie guys were pretty happy with what they had achieved and, later on, as they slaked their well-earned thirst with a ‘cleansing ale’ or five, the account of what had occurred became more and more detailed and vivid. (And exaggerated?) The Yanks had been sitting nearby – also taking in a ‘cleansing ale’ – but not joining in the Aussie celebrations. After all, the Yanks had yet to ‘see action’ and could not therefore share their own experiences. That was okay – each group left the other alone. Then, as the Aussies got a bit drunker and more boisterous, things started to take a turn for the worse. The Aussies started to brag about what they had done with the remains after the zombies had been ‘wasted’. And what they had done was not merely defiling the corpses by urinating on them or such like. Bits of zombies had been ‘arranged’ about the area of the town hall, ostensibly to scare off any other zombies from coming back into the area – but no-one believed that. Several of the zombies had still been twitching. These were ‘lynched’, strung up from lamp-posts – or placed, in sexual poses, like obscene garden gnomes in the front gardens of nearby houses. (This disgusted the fresh-faced GI’s, straight out of basic training – and Gately was man enough to say so. Very forthrightly.) “Ah, fuck me,” replied one of the Aussie raconteurs. “They’re just fuckin’ zombies, man. Cool down. They’re not even human.”
Byttegyns, pan dheuth an termyn rag desedha an jynnow-seth poes, an zombis a dhallathas resek troha’n soudoryon, meur aga govenek dhe gavoes boes kro, govenek heb govenek. Pyth a sywyas o eghenn a grow o aswonnys yn ta dhymm drefenn Gorladhva an Bennskol. An zombis a veu skwardyes yn temmyn gans lies kartryjenn-vazouka ha’n dreusvywysi an tardhans ma a veu treghys yn kepar maner gans pellennow an jynnow-seth skav. (Gonnys ‘Sten’? Ny wonn – nyns ov sur aga bos devnydhyes hwath y’n blydhynnyow 1970 gans soudoryon Ostralek – a-der an brentys-soudoryon, heb mar. Y’m kas vy, y tothya ow gonn hir ow honan, ‘.303’, dhiworth oes an Kynsa Bresel an Bys!) Gorfennys o batel Hel an Dre Lonk Redenennwyth kyns bos desedhys an jynnow-seth poes hogen. Pes da o an bolatys Ostralek dre reson a’ga howlwriansow ha, yn termyn diwettha, hag i ow terri syghes gans ‘korev ow klanhe’, dervynnys yn ta, hwedhel an hwarvosow eth ha bos gluwwa ha gluwwa, gans moy a vanylyon hogen. (Moy gorliwys?) A-ogas, yth esa a’ga esedh an Yankis. Yth esens ow kemmeres keffrys ‘korev ow klanhe’ – mes nyns esens owth omjunya gans an rejoysians Ostralek. Wosa oll, ny ‘welsens i batel’ na hwath – hag ytho na yllens kevrenna aga hwedhlow aga honan. Yth o henna da lowr – yth ow pub bagas ow kasa an huni arall yn kres. Ena, hag an Ostralianas gyllys ha bos nebes medhowwa – ha moy noysus – y tallathas an studh dhe dreylya dhe’n gwettha tu. An Ostralianas a dhallathas boestya a-dro dhe’n taklow re wrussens dhe gorfow an zombis wosa aga bos ‘gwastyes’. I re’n defolas dre bisans warnedhi. Nyns o hemma jentyl, heb mar mes, dres henna, temmyn an zombis re via arayys oll a-dro dhe’n Hel an Dre, herwydh lyklod rag digolenni an zombis ha lettya aga dehwelans. (Nyns esa denvyth a grysi henna.) Y fia lies zombis ow skwychya hwath. An re na re via ‘lynchyes’, kregys dhiworth golowbrennyer po gorrys yn stummow reydhel – kepar ha korrigow lyk – yn lowarthow an chiow y’ga ogas. (H’aga klywys a-dro dhe’n hwarvosow, meur o divlas an soudoryon Amerikanek, trenyes saw a-dhiwedhes ha fresk aga fismens. Nyns esa a-der Porther o kolonnek lowr rag y leverel. Ev a gewsis dhe blemmik.) “A, re’n jyowl,” a worthybis onan yntra’n rakkoryon Ostralek. “Nyns yns a-der zombis mollothek, ‘was. Ke war dha gamm. Nyns yns denel hogen.”