my a allsa oor Engels

my a allsa

Vertalings in die woordeboek Kornies - Engels

I could

Soortgelyke frases

my a allsa gweres
I could help

voorbeelde

Mar pe termyn genev, my a allsa dha weres.
If I had time, I could help you.

My a allsa amma dhis.
I could kiss you.

/ my a allsa / / /
I could

My a allsa amma dhiso-jy.
I could kiss you.

My a allsa gul henna mar mynnen vy. /
I could do that if I wanted. /

My a allsa junya geryow war-barth er agas pynn, ha shakya ow fenn orthowgh.
[no English parallel text | tekst kettuel Sowsnek vyth]

My a allsa amma dhis.
I could kiss ya.

My a allsa amma dhywgh-hwi.
I could kiss you.

My a allsa amma dhywgh.
I could kiss ya.

My a allsa amma dhywgh.
I could kiss you.

My a allsa gul henna mar mynnen vy.
I could do that if I wanted.

/ my a allsa gweres / / /
I could help

‘My a allsa kemmeres moy hwath, syrr. Ow sagh yw re skav,’ a leveris Sam yn krev hag yn anwir.
‘I could take a lot more yet, sir. My packet is quite light,’ said Sam stoutly and untruthfully.

4 My ynwedh a allsa kewsel kepar dell wrewgh, mar pewgh y’m tyller vy.
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flagys war dha golonn, ha war dha servysi ha war dha bobel, may hwodhvi nag eus nagonan avelov vy yn oll an nor. 15 Rag erbynn lemmyn my a allsa ystynn ow dorn ha’th weskel ty ha’th pobel gans an pla, ha ty a via treghys a’n nor. 16 Mes rakhemma y’th hesis dhe vewa, dhe dhiskwedhes dhis ow galloes, may fo derivys ow hanow war oll an nor. 17 Hwath yth omughelhydh erbynn ow fobel, ha ny’s gesydh dhe vones. 18 Otta, a-vorow a-dro dhe’n prys ma, my a wra dhe goedha keser pur vras, a
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an tempel, rag ymons i ow tos dhe’th ladha; haneth ymons ow tos dhe’th ladha.’ 11 Mes yn-medhav, ‘A dal fia gour kepar ha my? Ha piw, kepar ha my, a allsa mos y’n tempel ha bewa? Nyns av vy a-bervedh.’ 12 My a gonvedhas na’n dannvonas Duw, mes ev re leveris an profoesans ma er ow fynn drefenn Tobia ha Sanballat a wrug y arveth. 13 Ev a veu arvethys, may porthen vy own ha gul yndella ha pegha, hag ytho i a allsa ri dhymm drog hanow rag ow skornya. 14 Porth kov a Tobia ha Sanballat, ow Duw, war-lergh an taklow ma a wrussons, hag ynwedh an brofoeses Noadia ha’n brofoesi erell hag a vynnas ow ownekhe.
[no English parallel text | tekst kettuel Sowsnek vyth]

Ev a frappyas an lithyow esa ow talleth ow maglenna ha sevel a-dherag fas a’n zombis a’gan kyrghynna. I a gildennas nebes, meur aga marth: ny frappyas nevra an zombis an eyl dh’y gila, dell heveli. Ena, y teuth ev: bedhyglans kynoesel a wrug sevel an mannvlew a’m keyn konna. Y tardhas ev yn freudhek dhiworth korf Davydh ha leski an re a assaya ow dalghenna rag ow dybri. My a allsa y dheskrifa kepar ha bedhyglans lew yn Gwaynten oes – mes ny via henna da lowr. Ny via henna ewn. Moy es henna o y amovyans ahanav vy. Ev re lavarsa yn sempel, heb geryow: “Kewgh war agas kamm! Ow broder vy ywa.” Hag ytho, i eth. Yn hwir, nebes yntra’n zombis a resas dhe-ves, ow krena, meur aga own, dell heveli. (Yw possybyl bos an zombis ownek?) Mes rann vrassa anedha a fugya fowt y’ga les ha gwandra dhe-ves. My a wryrnyas yn krev ow broder-zombi. Ny ylli dasri ow gwrynyans mes, dell leveris, yth esa aswonnvos down y’m kever ynno na allsa bos naghys. My a gemmeras y leuv yn ow huni ha ni a wandras dhe-ves keffrys.
He struck out at the limbs that sought to ensnare me and rounded upon the encroaching zombies. They fell back a little in surprise: zombies never struck other zombies, it seemed. Then it came: a primeval roar that raised the small hairs on the back of my neck. It erupted violently from within David and seared those who would seize and devour me. I could describe it as the roar of a lion in his prime – but that would not do it justice. It was much more impressive than that. It said, quite simply: “Leave him alone – he’s my brother.” And they did. Some of the zombies actually sprinted away, apparently trembling with fear. (Did zombies ever feel fear?) But most just feigned disinterest and wandered off. I embraced my zombie brother. He seemed unable to return my embrace but, as I said, there was a deep recognition of me within him that could not be denied. I took his hand in mine. We, in turn, ‘wandered off’.

“Y HALLSA AN TOWL SEWENI, ‘DHAV. POSSYBYL YW.” Ogh! Yn hwir, pur dhe les o an lyther ma. Yth esa y’n lyther kommand dhe’n para. Res o dhodho omworra dhe gen tyller, drefenn godros an zombis dhe vos dinerthys a-dro dhe Borth Melbourne. Ha, dhe ble re via kommandys hembrenkyas an para (serjont) mos rag kemmeres y soudoryon? Gas vy dhe redya dhiworth an lyther: “Kommandys osta dhe wul oll an dyghtyansow yw res rag gwaya dha wersellva an jydh hedhyw, Penn-Ynkleudhva Melbourne, kyns 08.00 eur an nessa dy’Meurth, ha mos dre dren dhe’n souderjiow rag tro re via drehevys lemmyn, godrevi an Sita Brenn an Alargh, dhe’n Soth-West. Kemmeres dhe gen tyller dha bara jy yw res rag gweres yn gorlinyans an tardhans nowydh re hwarva a-gynsow y’n tyller ma. Devedhys, ty a wra dha omgommendya dhe gommondant an gaslys (hanow suppressyes) dre bellgowser hag ev a wra gorra yn le oll an dyghtyansow yw res rag treusporth dhe’n gaslys ...” Kler lowr. Lyther pur dhe les - mar mynnen mos, gans tren ha heb lett, dhe Brenn an Alargh. A vynnen mos ena? Yma gwettha leow, a brederis. Hmm. Pyth a wodhyen a-dro dhe Brenn an Alargh? Pennhyns an linenn a’n gledhbarth dhiworth Melbourne, sita yw kevys war lannow an ‘Avon Murray Nerthek’. Porth-avon rag gorholyon- tan. Tre an barvus-gowr Murray. Ha? Na. Henn o oll a wodhyen vy a-dro dhe Vrenn an Alargh. Ytho, my a erviras a-dhistowgh y talvien, Davydh ha my, mos ena skonna gallen. My a dhiskudhas ow thowl dhe Dhavydh. Rann unnik an towl a gonvedhi, dell grysyn, o’m mynnas ev dhe entra a-ji dhe’n eler wag, meur hy afinans, a via gesys y’n gleudhgell – parys bos devnydhyes genen ni – ha, wosa henna, ow mynnas keffrys ev dhe besya kosel ynni dres termyn pur hir. Yth heveli Davydh bos leun a dhout. Ny vern. My a allsa prederi a-dro dhe’n manylyon y’m kosk – hag ena y hallsen aga deklarya dhe Dhavydh ternos vyttin – mar mynna goslowes orthymmo vy po mar na vynna.
“IT MIGHT JUST WORK, DAVE. YOU NEVER KNOW.” Oho! This letter did indeed make interesting reading. It was a letter ordering the squad to re-deploy, now that the zombie threat had been ‘neutralised’ in the area of Melbourne Port. And to where was the squad commander, a sergeant, ordered to re-deploy his men? Allow me to quote: “You are ordered to make all necessary arrangements to disassemble and vacate your current encampments at Melbourne General Cemetery by 08.00 hours, Tuesday next, and proceed by train to the temporary barracks now established on the South West outskirts of the City of Swan Hill. Your squad’s redeployment is required to assist in quelling an outbreak of the infection that has recently occurred in that locale. Upon arrival, you are to make yourself known to the camp commandant (name suppressed) by phone and all necessary transport arrangements to the camp will be put in place ...” Clear enough. A useful document - if I wished to go, unimpeded and by train, to Swan Hill. Did I? A boy could do worse, I thought. Hmm. What did I know about Swan Hill? It was the terminus of the northerly train line out of Melbourne and on the banks of the ‘Mighty Murray River’. A river-port for paddle steamers. Home to the giant Murray cod. And? Nope, that’s about all I knew about Swan Hill. So, naturally, I decided David and I should go there as soon as possible. I outlined my plan to David. The only aspect of the plan that he understood, I think, was that I wanted him to get inside the otherwise unoccupied (but extra- fancy) coffin which had been conveniently left in the crypt – and then to stay quiet for a very long time. David seemed dubious, very dubious. No matter, I would sleep on the details of my plan and elaborate on them to David in the morning – whether he wanted to listen to them or not.

Kapten: “Yth hevel na vos yndella. An dhew vroder yw gevellyon gehevelep, dell hevel. Possybyl yw an huni ow bywa dhe vos yn sempel diogel erbynn an klevesans – kyn fo kehevelep yn oll an fordhow erell dhe’y vroder. (Hag y feu nebes kasow a dhiogeledh a’n par na gwelys seulabrys.) Mars yw yndella, my a allsa gul nebes hwithrans pur dhe-les. Pyth yw aga tyffransow genynnyek? Prag y koedhsa an eyl dhe’n klevesans ha na goedh y gila? Martesen, y hyllir gul devnydh a woes an broder a vyw hwath rag devisya breghlyn.” (Ow goes euthyk rag breghlyn!) Kaslywydh: “My a gonvedh henna oll, a Gapten, mes ny yllyn synsi an den a’y anvodh, a ny yllyn? Henn yw leverel, Kevambos Jenevek, reythow denel hag oll an traow ma. Kapten: “Pan gachis an dhew, yth esa an broder byw owth omwul bos serjont yn Lu Ostralek Hy Meuredh Ryal ha, dres henna, ow gwitha y vroder-zombi erbynn kachyans.” Kaslywydh: “Wel, dhe wir. My a dhesev ni dhe alloes y witha dres pols drefenn an resons ma ...Byttegyns, skant ny allav krysi an kuhudhansow ma dhe vos poesek lowr rag y gregi? Yns i?” (Yth esa hwath yn Budhykka drogoberow a allsa bos dyghtyes dre bayn a vernans – hag, yn hwir, my re welsa ow honan breusyas dhe ri sentens a vernans y’n kynsa kas re welsen vy. (Reg. v. Bariska). Herwydh an lagha vreselek, nyns en sur pyth o an studh.) Kapten: “Mes, a Gaslywydh, nans yw berrdermyn an broder-zombi a dhybris Ughkapten Smayth. Henn yw dhe wir kuhudhans poesek lowr rag kregans.” Kaslywydh: (meur y dhiskryjyans) “Smytti koth? Hensouder medellyes a Gorea, Malaya ha ‘Namm?” Y hyllyn klywes hwarthow, lettyes yn kynsa le hag ena digabester yn tien – dhiworth an dhew dhen. An hwarthow ma a besyas dres termyn hir. Meurgerys re via “Smytti koth”, dell heveli! Yn neb kas, an Kapten re fethas anvodh y Gaslywydh. Ev a allsa gwitha zombi ha’y vroder dhe’n selva. Ytho, ni a dheuth ha bos samplow dhenel rag diskwedhyans ha hwithrans.
Captain: “Not that I can see, sir. The two brothers appear to be identical twins. Maybe the living one is simply immune – although he be identical to his brother in all other respects. (And there have been some cases of that already observed.) If so, that could make for very interesting research. What are their genetic differences? Why would one brother succumb and not his identical twin? Maybe we could use the blood of the living brother to make a vaccine. (My friggin’ blood for a vaccine!) Commander: “That’s all very well, Captain, but we can’t hold the man against his will, can we? I mean, Geneva Convention, human rights and all that.” Captain: “When I caught these two, the living brother was not only masquerading as a non-commissioned officer of Her Majesty’s Armed forces but was actively protecting his zombie brother from capture.” Commander: “Well, yes. I suppose we could detain him for a while on those bases but they are hardly hanging offences, are they?” (The death penalty still existed in Victoria at the time and I had actually seen a man sentenced to death – in the very first case that I observed. (Reg. v. Bariska) And, under military law, I wasn’t sure what the situation might be.) Captain: “But, Commander, the zombie brother had just eaten Major Smythe. That’s certainly a hanging offence.” Commander: (incredulous) “Old Smitty? Decorated veteran of Korea, Malaya and ‘Nam?” I could hear poorly stifled guffaws, followed closely by unrestrained howls of laughter from both men – which went on for a considerable time. “Old Smitty”, it seemed, had been much loved! In any event, the Captain had overcome his Commander’s initial reluctance to accommodate a zombie and his brother. So, we became medical specimens to be exhibited and experimented on.

‘Mes, kyn na allsa ladha Bylbo Golum, my a vynn na withsa ev an Bysow.’ yn-medh Frodo. ‘My a vynn na’n kavsa ev, ha na dhothya ev dhymmo! Prag y hwruss’ta gasa orthiv y witha? Prag na wruss’ta gul orthiv y skoellya, po, po, y dhistrui?’
‘All the same,’ said Frodo, ‘even if Bilbo could not kill Gollum, I wish he had not kept the Ring. I wish he had never found it, and that I had not got it! Why did you let me keep it? Why didn’t you make me throw it away, or, or destroy it?’

Yth o eun diwweyth an korporal: nyns esa awtorita vyth – na dhe Ingrid na dhe’n Serjont (kynth esens ughella yn renk dhodho) – rag ri dhodho arghadyow. Methardak. My a allsa gweles an Serjont dhe vos ha bos smatta hogen. Y’m breus vy, ny allsa henna seweni gans an Korporal – drefenn y wodhvos yn ta an gadon ewn a gommond. Ytho, prys o rag ow sevel yn-bann rag bos reknys. My a gramyas dhiworth delergh an kynsa jip ha sevel rybdho, meur ow ansurneth. My a elwis yn hwann dhe’n withysi: “’Dhus jentyl, my yw an acheson rag presens an soedhogyon omma. Yth ov an huni re gawsyas an studh ma, an freudh war blen an gerdhva ...” My a bowesas, nebes faynt drefenn ow sevel, kyns my dhe worfenna ow thybyans. “...mar nyns owgh an bolatys dhe’m gorra yn prison, rag ow gwitha, y fydh lynchyans omma ragowgh hwi. Y tesevav na via henna da gans Kommondant an Selva, myttin, pan via res dhodho a dhisplegya dh’y bennow-tus y honan pyth o an acheson rag ow horf bos ow swaysya yn-dann an welen baner – ha hwi gyllys y sawya an trobel ma der obayans sempel arghadyow an soedhogyon a’ga sav a-dheragowgh hwi lemmyn. Ytho, pyth a brederowgh hwi?” Yn kettermyn, an Serjont ha Ingrid, an dhew, a dreylyas ha mires orthymm, meur aga marth. (Prag na bredersons a henna?) Yn apert, an withysi a’m aswonnis. I a wodhya ynwedh an acheson rag ow bos synsys dhe’n selva. Godhvedhys o dhe beub oll, dell heveli. An Korporal a viras orth an Serjont. “Ty a vynn gorra an polat ma yn prison? Prag na leversysta yndella y’n kynsa le? Es yw henna – arghadow vyth yw res.” Ha, gans henna, my a junyas gans an Serjont hag Ingrid ha’n withysi sevys a- denewen ha ni a entras y’n drehevyans heb agan leverel ger arall. Ha ni ow kul yndellna, an Serjont a dreylyas pols rag kewsel dhe lywyer an nessa jip, ow tevi y ankombrynsi. (Y heveli y wodhya yn tien an kynsa towl hag ev goslowys orth oll an taklow nowydh leverys genen a-gynsow – ytho, pyth a via an towl lemmyn?) “Relevys osta, ‘souder. Y’th welvydhav diwettha.” Dres pols, yth esa dhe lywyer an nessa jip fisment sowdhenys.
The Corporal was, of course, correct on both counts – neither Ingrid nor the U.S. Sergeant, both theoretically superior in rank, had any authority to order him about. Stalemate. I could see the Sergeant was going to move – even more – into bullying mode. I judged that it wouldn’t work on the Corporal – who obviously knew very well what was the proper chain of command. So, it was time for me to stand up and be counted. I crawled from the back of the first jeep and stood uncertainly beside it. I called out weakly to the guards: “Gentlemen, I’m the reason these officers are here. I’m the one who has caused the rioting over on the parade ground ...” I paused, giddy from standing, before completing my thought. “ ... If you don’t let these guys lock me up for my own protection, you’re going to have a lynching on your hands. I suspect the Camp Commandant will not be well pleased when he has to explain to his superiors why my body is swinging from the flagpole in the morning – when you could have saved him the trouble simply by obeying the orders of the officers now standing in front of you. So, what do you think?” Both the Sergeant and Ingrid turned, as one, and gaped at me in amazement. (Why hadn’t they thought of that?) The guards knew who I was and why I was being held in the camp – it seemed everyone did. The Corporal looked at the Sergeant. “You wanna lock this guy up? Why didn’t you say so in the first place? That’s easy – no orders required.” And, with that, I joined the Sergeant and Ingrid, the guards stood aside and we entered the building without further ado. Then the Sergeant briefly turned back and spoke to the now-confused driver of the second jeep – who was apparently in on the overall plan and had been listening to everything that had just been said: “You’re dismissed, soldier. I will see you later.” The driver of the second jeep, briefly, looked puzzled.