a close translation; a close copy
Naeema didn't give zero fucks about either one of them, their hustles, their wives, their sidechicks, nor their kids if they had any.
Still feeling faintish, I asked to be excused from dinner.
Their Priest, which they call Tallapoi, are seeming very zealously superstitious: they somewhat incline to Mahometanism; for they pretend they will not drink wine, being forbidden it by their Law, yet are abominable hypocrites: for, though they wear a sheep-skin with the wool thereon, not suffering any hair to be on their bodies, and in shew lead a chaste life, yet I found the contrary; as you shall understand by what past between one of them and my self.
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