heb rach oor Engels

heb rach

Vertalings in die woordeboek Kornies - Engels

careless

adjektief

carelessly

bywoord

incautious

adjektief

incautiously · rash · rashly

voorbeelde

heb rach [gorer / adverb]
carelessly

/ heb rach / / /
carelessly

/ heb rach / / gorer / adverb /
carelessly

adv / heb rach / adv /
carelessly

rash a. dibreder; heb rach; unwise anfür Lh†; breakneck crackya codna; crackagodna NB, PN
rash a. dibreder; heb rach; unwise anfür Lh†; breakneck crackya codna; crackagodna NB, PN

“Da lowr, ‘Gapten,” yn-medhav. “An mester osta. Ny vynnav pok-jatel a dheg mil volt bos herdhyes y’m tin unnweyth arta. Diwodhav o an payn na!” (Hemm o gow arall, heb mar. Denvyth re wrussa hwath gul a bok-jatel warnav – mes ny wrug an Kapten y wodhvos.) Yth esa tri fok-jatel ow poesa heb rach erbynn an paros ryb an gwarila. My a boyntyas troha’n tri ha koedha tawesek. Byttegyns, dises yntra’n woslowysi a ylli bos tevys – po ogas – ha klywys. Nyns o an Kapten mar wokki may hylli skonya aswonn koll attendyans an soudoryon ha, gans henna, y grysadewder y honan. Hag ena, y teuth arta an minhwarth skruthus na. (Thukk!) “Do’ way, ‘vester broder zombi,” yn-medh an Kapten. (Ev re ankovsa ow hanow, heb mar – nyns o a vri vyth dhodho.) “Gul pok-jatel warnos jy? Na. Ty a wra godhvos henna, a ny wreta. Yth esons ena rag omwitha yn sempel orth dha vroder, y’n kas bos edhomm dhyn y gontrolya.” “Gas e kewsel!” a armas onan yntra’n hardha soudoryon amerikanek, esedhys yn delergh an hel. “Y fynnyn godhvos pyth eus dhodho leverel.” (Hag, y’n fordh na, my re’n kachsa!) Ny veu klywys hanasans down dhiworth an Kapten drefenn hubbadrylsi re dhallathsa lemmyn. “Da lowr, da lowr,” a armas ev a-ugh an tervans. “My a re kummyas dhodho dhe gemmeres agas govynnow. Byttegyns, gwrewgh perthi kov: nyns yw ev a’gan tu. Kachyes o hag ev gwithys zombi.” “...kachyes hag ev gwithys y vroder - y vroder unnik!” a ewnhis vy, ow tevi ow hardhder. Souder Amerikanek yowynk a gerdhas yn-rag dhe’n mikrogowser hag omgommendya (“Souder keth, kynsa gradh, Brendan Stevyor dhiworth Idaho”) ha govynn: “Prag na dheuthys ha bos zombi dha honan pan dheuth ha bos dha vroder- gevell?” An gorthyp gwir o apert dhymm (ny vien brethys kepar dell via Davydh) mes ny via kowal an gorthyp na – hag ytho my a erviras kemmyska nebes an mater. My a dhesevas nag esa denvyth y’n hel a allsa ow hontradia.
“Very well, Captain,” I said. “You’re in charge. I don’t want to have a ten- thousand volt cattle-prod rammed up my arse again. That was absolutely excruciating!” (This, of course, was another lie. No-one had used a cattle-prod on me yet – but the Captain did not know this.) There were three cattle-prods leaning carelessly against the wall on the side of the stage. I pointed to them and fell silent. However, the discontent among the members of the audience was palpable – and audible. The Captain was not so stupid as to ignore the fact that he was rapidly losing the troops’ attention and, along with that, his own credibility. He flashed that creepy smile again. (Yuck!) “Now, now, Mr Zombie’s brother,” said the Captain. (He’d forgotten my name – it was of no importance to him.) “There’s no question of using the cattle- prods on you. You know that, don’t you? Those are just in case your brother gets out of hand.” “Let him speak!” shouted one of the bolder GI’s at the back of the hall. “We want to know what he has to say.” (And thus I had him!) The Captain’s deep sigh was not heard above the general hubbub that had now broken out. “Very well”, he shouted above the din. “I will allow him to take your questions but do remember he is not on our side. He was caught protecting a zombie.” “Caught protecting my only brother!” I corrected, now gaining in confidence. A young GI stepped forward to the microphone, introduced himself (“Private First class Brendan Swooper from Idaho”) and asked: “How come you’re not a zombie yourself when your twin brother is?” The answer to this was obvious to me (I’d not been bitten and David had) but that answer would have been incomplete and so I decided to muddy the waters a little. I guessed that no-one in the hall was in a position to correct me.

(Ha, dres henna, a via agan fordh lettyes gans tankow ha soudoryon, es aga movya, ow toen jynnys-setha?) Ni a assaysa y wul – y to ha bos Garth North ha’y gyrghynn park-ladhva rag oll an greadoryon esa ow triga ena. Ny dalvien triga. Ni a wayas gans an res troha’n wogledh, a-dreus Stretynn Sten hag yntra Poll- neuvya Beaurepaire ha’n kouryow-skwash. Ni a dremenas an resekva ha’n kouryow tennis. Lent ha hanter-lettyes o agan avonyans. Ena, an dus anvarow a skoelyas a-dreus an tiryow krykket. (Yn apert, ny wodhyens aga ynherdhyans warnedha dhe wul damaj meur dhe’n gwelyow, meur aga dyghtyans.) Drefenn neb acheson, my a ledyas Davydh a-denewen – ny entersyn an tiryow krykket. Martesen, revrons pur o – po, martesen, yth esa neppyth arall ow klykkya y’m brys vy. Gorhel-gonnys askell-dro a wayas dhiworth Garth North ha sywya an bush dhe’n tiryow krykket ha hi dinewys mernans metelyek war ynherdhyoryon an gwelyow. Kettermyn, gwels pur dheg an gwelyow o treghys yn trog gans an ridrans-tan ma heb rach. Y fia edhomm dhe’n keurador lies seythun a ober, meur y rach, rag ewnhe an damaj euthyk ma. Yth heveli ow bos ena an den unnik mayth esa govisyon a-dro dhe vaterow poesek a’n par na! (Res via dhymm kedhla an KKO (Kesva Krykket Ostralek) yn termyn a-dho.) Ni a dhrehedhas a-gledhbarth an tiryow le may feu konstrynys an bush ow fia yn konna-botell. An konna-botell ma o an hyns yntra’n babell-grykket (o gwrys devnydh keffrys avel stevellow rag kowethas an venedhoryon) ha drehevyansow an kolljiow annedhel. Derayus o. Byttegyns, nyns esa ow tenna an askell-dro war an re a dhrehedsa an le ma. Martesen, yth esa own dhe’n lywyer a frappyans erbynn an kolljiow may kalla goskeusi hwath treusvyworyon. Ny allav bos sur. Byttegyns, an diskeudh a dheuth dhymm dhiworth an difresyans ma nag yw gwaytyes o heglyw. Yth esa avon an dus anvarow ow kramya kepar ha sarf a-hys an hyns troha’n porth a-gledhbarth an kampus. O diank rybon ni? Nag o. Ena, y sonas klattrans na ylli bos kammgemmerys, klattrans a jynn-setha poes. Y feu brywys an kalmynsi berr. An prys ma, ny dheuth an son dhiworth an ebron mes dhiworth an hyns a-dheragon, dhiworth le mayth esa an porth a- gledhbarth. Yth esa moy skrijans an zombis, ughel y bych.
(And would our way also be blocked by tanks and nervous troops with machine guns?) We’d give it a try – North Court and its surrounds were rapidly becoming a killing field for all the creatures that lingered there. We should not linger. We moved with the Northbound flow, across Tin Alley and between the Beaurepaire pool and the squash courts. We moved past the running track and the tennis courts. It was slow, halting progress. The undead then spilled across the cricket ground (oblivious to the damage this would cause to the finely manicured pitches.) For some reason, I led David to the side of the oval and stayed off the playing area. Was this merely respect or was something else clicking inside my head? A helicopter gunship edged away from North Court and followed the throng to the cricket oval, pouring hot metal death down on the pitch invaders. At the same time, the felt-like grass of the pitch itself was fearfully cut up by this careless strafing. It would take the curator weeks of pain-staking repair work. It seemed that I was the only one present who cared about such important matters! (I would have to take it up with the ACB (Australian Cricket Board) much later on.) We reached the North side of the oval where the fleeing throng was forced into the bottleneck of the footpath that ran between the cricket pavilion (and mountaineering clubrooms) and residential college buildings. Chaotic though this was, the helicopter gunship did not fire upon those who had reached this point. Perhaps there was a fear of striking the residential colleges where living survivors might yet be sheltering. I can’t be sure but the relief that came from this unexpected protection was palpable. Slowly, the river of undead snaking North along the path crept towards the Northernmost exit of the campus. Was escape at hand? Nope. At that point, the unmistakable chatter of a heavy machine gun shattered the temporary calm. This time, the sound was not from above but from ahead, from the direction of the exit to which we were heading. More high-pitched zombie wailing.

“Drog yw genev, ‘Vata,” a brederis vy. “Ni re wrug agan gwella. Nyns o da lowr.” Korporal a elwis dh’y bennsoedhek: “Nyns yw zombi, an huni ma, Syrr,” yn-medh ev, hag ev poyntyes troha my. “Martesen kesoberer yw.” Y teuth Kapten dhyn ni. Yth esa ow kwiska arwoedhik kadusius. Medhek breselek o. “Kesoberer?!” a skornyas ev. “Ass o tybyans gokki.” Ev a viras, y’n kynsa le, orthymmo vy – ena, orth Davydh. Ev a wrug yndellna teyr po peder gweyth. “Unnwoes yns. Breder yns, dell grysav. Martesen, gevellyon hogen. Nebes kales yw dhe leverel pyth o semlans an zombi nans yw nebes dydhyow – drefenn bos lemmyn loes y groghen ha drefenn bos an lastedhes goesek warnodho.” Ev a gewsis dhymm: “Hou, Ty! Y hallsen vy erghi dhe’n soudoryon dha denna drefenn dha vos aspiyas. Ty a woer henna, a ny wodhesta? My a dhesev na vos yn hwir serjont yn Lu Ostralek Hy Meuredh Ryal. Dres termynyow a vresel, an kessydhyans rag omfugya avel souder po soedhek yw mernans heb lettya, a nyns ywa?” Ya, my a wodhya henna. Byttegyns, esen ni dhe wir yn ‘termynyow a vresel’? Yn neb kas, Davydh ha my a vetsa orth agan mernans warbarth, dell heveli. Dhe’n lyha, neb konfort dhymm o hemma. Y remaynis vy tawesek. Nyns esa travyth bos leverys. Ena, y hwarva unn dra goynt. Heb gwarnyans, y chanjas maner an Kapten. Ev a’m eksamnyas, meur y rach. Heb mar, Davydh a besyas bedhygla y brotestyans hag assaya heb sewen diank an roes. Y teuth an Kapten rag esedha rybov. Ev a removas y hatt ha kewsel genev yn ton ewntrek – o pur skruthus: “A via gwell genes bos tennys, lemmyn hag omma, yn maner a dhegoedh aspiyas – po a via gwell genes pesya bywya – hag, yn possybyl, gwitha keffrys bywnans dha zombi gar-ogas – dres pols dhe’n lyha?”
“Sorry, Mate,” I thought. “We did our best. It just wasn’t good enough.” A corporal called his commanding officer over: “This one isn’t a zombie, Sir,” he said, pointing in my direction. “Perhaps he’s a collaborator.” A Captain approached. He wore a caduceus badge. He was a military doctor. “A collaborator?!” he scoffed. “What an absurd concept.” “He looked first at me and then at David. He did the same thing three or four times. “They’re related. Brothers, I’d say. Maybe even twins. It’s a bit hard to tell what the zombie looked like a few days ago – what with that awful grey skin and bloody mess that they all seem to wear.” He addressed himself to me: “You there! I could have you shot as a spy, you know. I assume you’re not really a Sergeant in Her Majesty’s Australian Army. The penalty for impersonating army personnel during time of war is summary execution, you know.” Yes, I had heard of this, now that I thought of it – but was this really a war? In any event, it seemed that David and I would be going together. That, at least, was some comfort. I remained silent. I had nothing to say. Then a strange thing happened. The Captain’s manner abruptly changed. He examined me and David more closely. David kept roaring his protest, of course, and tried vainly to escape his bonds. The Captain came and sat himself beside me, took off his hat and assumed an avuncular (but definitely creepy) tone with me: “Would you rather be shot, here and now, as a spy – or would you prefer to live on and, possibly, ensure the existence of your zombie relative for a while yet?”

n. caution, keeping gwith ~ with m. Sometimes with perm. mut. gw > w-; caution rach m.; concerns cavow; concern bern /bɛrn/ m., phr. no worries na vern; heb bern; stress borne begh m., pl. behyow; sorrow düwon /'dɪwɐn/ m.; cares, pl govijyon Lh.; value, esteem bry /briː/ m.; phr. in the care of s.one (en) dadn gwith (nebonan); with care adv. See 'carefully'. >
n. caution, keeping gwith ~ with m. Sometimes with perm. mut. gw > w-; caution rach m.; concerns cavow; concern bern /bɛrn/ m., phr. no worries na vern; heb bern; stress borne begh m., pl. behyow; sorrow düwon /'dɪwɐn/ m.; cares, pl govijyon Lh.; value, esteem bry /briː/ m.; phr. in the care of s.one (en) dadn gwith (nebonan); with care adv. See 'carefully'. >

ha bys kans kor a waneth, ha bys kans bath a win,a ha bys kans bath olew, ha hoelan heb ragsettya an myns. 23 Pynagoll a vo erghys gans Duw nev, bedhes gwrys gans rach a-barth chi Duw nev: rag prag y fydh sorr erbynn myghterneth an myghtern ha’y vebyon? 24 Bedhewgh avisys ynwedh, na vydh laghel beghya na toll-benn, na toll-wara, na toll-dir war denvyth a’n oferysi an Levysi, an ganoryon, an borthoryon, gwesyon an tempel, na servysi erell a’n chi ma a Dhuw.
[no English parallel text | tekst kettuel Sowsnek vyth]

Pan fethis ow skruth drefenn ‘derivas-fashyon’ euthyk Davydh – ha kyns an howlspann dhe vos yn tien – my a verkyas Davydh dhe gavoes ‘dillasenn’ arall. My a’n studhyas gans rach. Jerkynn formel an soedhek o, gwlyghys yn tien yn goes, heb mar. Renk an soedhek o apert – Kapten o – hag yth esa arwoedhigow-kadusius fastyes dhe bub skoedh-darn. Ny yllyn yn hwir redya arwoedhik-hanow an medhek da – nebes gorherys o gans effluvia goesek – byttegyns, da o genev drefenn an golok ma. Yn hwir, pur lowen en vy. Ny dalvia Kapten Doktour Mengele erghi dh’y lywyer dasgerdhes dhe’n selva. Y hyllyn gweles y’m brys an wel, woesek ha konnaryek, pan goedhsa Davydh y’n mo war soedhek medhegel, y honan ha heb gogrys. A, wel, y hwer ekskretyans!
After overcoming my revulsion at David’s ghastly fashion statement – and before daylight failed completely – I noticed that David had acquired a further ‘garment’. I studied it carefully. It was an officer’s dress-jacket, completely drenched in blood, of course. The officer’s rank was plainly that of Captain – and there were little caduceus badges clipped to each epaulette. I couldn’t actually read the good doctor’s name badge – that had been somewhat obscured by sanguinous effluvia – but I was content with what I saw. Very content. Captain Doctor Mengele should not have made his ‘grunt’ driver walk back to the base, should he? I imagined the frenzied and bloody scene when, in the twilight, David had fallen upon the lone and unsuspecting medical officer. Ah, well, excrement occurs!

Unnweyth arta, my a wrug bresel gans maglennow an kert: Krakk! Krakk! Krakk! Paul a’m gweresas dre y gwestyon: “Esosta sur ty dhe alloes lywya an dra ma?” (Ha dre gwestyons erell a’n par na.) Meur ras, ‘Bowl. Yn neb kas, wor’tiwedh, my a gevis maglenn isel lowr rag gasa an kert dalleth gwaya - gans lamm. “Wel, ott maglenn deg!” a verkyis vy ha ni korsyes, 4 po 5 mildir an our agan toeth. “Ni a dalvien triga gans an huni na, dell grysav, ay?” Yn kettermyn, Powl ha Davydh a hwythas yn ughel – yn keth maner poran - mes nyns esa gorthyp kewsys vyth dhiworth an eyl po dhiworth an gila. Gans hemma, yth en nebes troblys. Wosa oll, nyns o Powl hwath omwellhes yn tien. Da lowr, y fia Powl yn skon y’n Baillieu – ha ny via na fella ow hudynn vy. Ni a asas Kromman Kollji hag entra yn Kerdhva Ryel, ow kwaya troha’n dhygowbarth. Res o dhymm kavoes entrans an howlsedhes a ylli ow hemmeres dhe dharas a-rag an Baillieu. (Nyns yw possybyl na fella gul devnydh a’n fordh ma drefenn bos lemmyn drehevyansow nowydh warnodho.) Yth esa, heb mar, termyn lowr rag lywya gans rach ewn mes yth esen ow lavurya, yn effeyth, yn len-servis Kerdhva Ryel. An len-servis ma o nebes ynn hag yth en keys a-ji war an dhew du gans resyow elow koth. (Pur deg, heb mar, mes kudynn gwir pan assayen vy trabellhe kert meur.) My a aspias an entrans – wor’tiwedh – ha gwaska an fronn gans rach. Ny vynnen an jynn euthyk dhe fyllel wosa oll an hwarvosow ma – yn hwir, ny yllen perthi kov dell o dasdhallethys mars o res y wul. Byttegyns, ny vynnen kevrenna an kevrin gans an re erell. My a erviras na via hemma meur a vern dhedha, ow fowt skians a-dro dhe’n mater ma. Torn a-gledh. Y frappyes dhe du gwydhenn veur. (Krakk!) Ena, y lywyes dre (hag a-ugh) skovva porther. (Tros ughel a alkan ow therri.) Ena, y frywes der an yetbren. (Skwatt!) “Re’n jyowl!” a grias ow sos gethreydel yn unnlev. “Hmm,” yn-medhav. “Yn hwir, yth eth henna yn ta, hay!” “Eson ni ena hwath, ‘Dasik?” yn-medh Powl, gwan y lev ow krena.
Once again, I battled with the gears of the vehicle: Crunch! Crunch! Crunch! Paul helpfully assisted the process by asking: “Are you sure you can drive this thing?” (and other questions in that vein.) Thanks, Paul. In any event, I eventually found a gear that was low enough to allow the truck to move off with a lurch. “Now, that’s a fine gear,” I observed as we cruised along at 4 or 5 mph. “I think we should stick with that one, don’t you?” Paul and David huffed in contempt – as one – but made no verbal reply. That was a little bit disturbing. After all, Paul hadn’t fully recovered from his bite as yet. Oh well, Paul would soon be at the Baillieu – and no longer my problem. We exited College Crescent and entered Royal Parade, heading South. I needed to find the entrance on the West side of campus which would take me neatly to the front of the Baillieu. (This route is no longer possible – too many new buildings on campus.) I did, of course, have plenty of time to keep a look-out but was conscious of the fact that we were travelling, in effect, in the service lane of Royal Parade. The width of the service lane was quite tight and I was hemmed in on both sides by rows of mature elm trees. (Very pretty, of course, but a real problem when trying to manoeuvre a large truck.) I spotted the entrance – eventually – and applied the brake very gingerly. I didn’t want to stall the bugger after all this – and I couldn’t actually remember how to re-start one if the engine stopped. I didn’t share this fact with my passengers, deciding that they wouldn’t be much interested in my ignorance on this point. Left turn. Side swipe the trunk of a very large tree. (Crunch!) Drive over the top of the gate-keeper’s booth. (Loud metallic, crumpling sound.) Smash through boom gate. (Snap!) “Fuck!” screamed my gay friends in unison. “Hmm,” I said. “Yes, that did go well, didn’t it?” “Are we there yet, Dad?” said Paul in a weak and quavering voice.

Wosa my dhe wortos termyn hir, meur ow ferthyans, heb klewes ev dhe wrowedha, my a erviras ygeri aswa vyghan–pur, pur vyghan–y’n lugarn. Ytho, my a’n ygoras–ny yll’ta desevos fatel y’n gwrug, gans rach mar veur, mar veur–bys pan lammas a’n aswa, wortiwedh, dewyn unnik ha gwann, kepar ha’n neusen a gevnisen, ha kodha poran war an lagas karyn.
When I had waited a long time, very patiently, without hearing him lie down, I resolved to open a little—a very, very little crevice in the lantern. So I opened it—you cannot imagine how stealthily, stealthily—until, at length a simple dim ray, like the thread of the spider, shot from out the crevice and fell full upon the vulture eye.

A-dro dhe’n termyn ma, Gandalf a dhasomdhiskwedhas wosa estrik hir. Dre deyr blydhen wosa an kevywi ev re beu gyllys. Ena, ev a wodrigas orth Frodo a verr dermyn, ha wosa mires orto gans rach, ev a asas arta. Dres an nessa blydhen po dew, ev re omdhiskwedhas lieskweyth, ow tos yn anwaytys wosa mo hag ow kasa heb gwarnyans kyns howlsevel. Ny vynna ev kewsel a-dro dh’y negys ha vyajyow y honan, hag y’n jevo bern yn kever nowodhow a-dro dhe yeghes Frodo ha’y wriansow.
It was just at this time that Gandalf reappeared after his long absence. For three years after the Party he had been away. Then he paid Frodo a brief visit, and after taking a good look at him he went off again. During the next year or two he had turned up fairly often, coming unexpectedly after dusk, and going off without warning before sunrise. He would not discuss his own business and journeys, and seemed chiefly interested in small news about Frodo’s health and doings.

Arloedh ha governour Yudi, ha henavogyon an Yedhewon a dhrehevel chi an Arloedh war y dyller. 28 ‘Ha my a worhemmynn may fo kowldhrehevys, ha may fons diwysyk rag gweres an re a gethneth Yudi bys pan vo chi an Arloedh gorfennys. 29 Ha may roller gans rach rann a drubyt Kelesyria ha Fenikia dhe’n dus ma, henn yw dhe Zerubbabel an governour, rag sakrifia dhe’n Arloedh rag terewi ha hordhes hag eyn, 30 hag ynwedh ys ha hoelan ha gwin hag oyl, prest pub blydhen heb hokya, rag us pub-dydhyek dell dhiskwettho an oferysi yn Yerusalem, 31 rag may fo offrynnow diwes gwrys dhe’n ughella Duw rag an myghtern ha’y fleghes, ha may pyssons rag aga bewnans.’
[no English parallel text | tekst kettuel Sowsnek vyth]