1443 The way things are (Le cose der Monno)
Translated by Peter Nicholas Dale

Now fiddlydids, grumblen about th’Almighdy ain’t nice,
It’s wot c’nsoles fools ut are sucked in by urgers.
Strokes a forchune go hand in hand with scourges.
There’s rich folk, n’ there’s peeple ut scratch their lice.

The Pope’ull help battlers ut find the goen tuff:
But then sumwun else’ull gouge out their eyes as well.
That’s the way a the wirld: these things are bagatelles,
Pifflen trifles, not wirth a brass razoo, trivial stuff.

Wot’s the point a counten wun by wun the cumfy state
Uv uthers ut’ve had a lucky break? That’s gossip.
Nowun’s ever, ever sadusfied with his fate.

Be cool, take ya time: Short uva feed? Yu’ll be eaten soon,
An when nite comes on after the sun’s set
Well let’s jus’ be sadusfied with the lide a the moon.

16/3/2001
The sonnet is translated into "Strine", the dialect spoken in Australia down to the 1960s.

1443 The way things are (Orthographically normalized version)
Translated by Peter Nicholas Dale

Now fiddlydids, grumbling about the Almighty ain’t nice,
It’s what consoles fools that are sucked in by urgers.
Strokes of fortune go hand in hand with scourges.
There’s rich folk, and there’s people that scratch their lice.

The Pope’ll help battlers that find the going tough:
But then someone else’ll gouge out their eyes as well.
That’s the way of the world: these things are bagatelles,
Piffling trifles, not worth a brass razoo, trivial stuff.

What’s the point of counting one by one the comfy state
Of others that’ve had a lucky break? That’s gossip.
No one’s ever, ever satisfied with his fate.

Be cool, take your time: Short of a feed? You’ll be eaten soon,
And when night comes on after the sun’s set
Well let’s just be satisfied with the light a the moon.

16/3/2001