mardi, mars 28, 2006

flayme werre

BSL! Mayster Johann Gowere ys on me lyk galauntyne on a pyk. Nowe by alle the sayntz he stoopeth so lowe that he leaveth barbede commentes on myn blogge.


Myn Gentil Gefroi:
Ich am muchel wrothe at thy japes and hostyl wordes, yow seem overe eager to maken me seem a smale and pityeful man.
Whatte hath Ich wroght to maken mine self so displeysing to yow?
Johannes Gowere
ps. my liverie is bettere and ich do notte share it so freelye to harvest the gold of compleat strangeres.

O, pleye the martyr, Mayster Gower. Thou knowst myn quarel wel, butte so thatte I maye maken the roote and engendrure of myn angre cleere to all, ich have writen a formal appeal ayeinst thee.


SCIANT PRESENTES ET FUTURI and alle those who maye linke to thys page, I Geoffrey Chaucer in the presence of the internette knowlechede thes wordes and typede them wyth myn owene fingres and thus I hereof appeale myn erstwhile freende and companioun Johanness Gowere that he ys a wanker.

ITEM. Thou hast removede mencioun of me from the secounde drafte of thyn confessio amantis. WTF!?! & hereof I appeale thee John Gowere that thou art a wanker.

ITEM. Thou nedest getten a lyfe of thyne owene - whenevir ich wisshe to hange out with tommye uske or ralph strode or sir ‘t-bone’ clanvowe and juste have some heade-to-heade tyme, thou art alwayes on aboute comynge alonge and then thou makest vs lystene vnto thy talke of moralitees and monkes and yt is ful borynge and maken myn eyes to droope yn slepe. & hereof I appeale thee John Gowere that thou art a wanker.

ITEM. The tale of the miller of hendy nicholas and eek the tale of the reeve of the miller who was trickede dide plesen thou nat, the whiche is strongere affirmacioun that thou art a humorless wrecche than evene thyne intolerable miroir de l'homme. & hereof I appeale thee John Gower that thou art a wanker.

ITEM. For lyke VI monthes thow hadst me callen thou backe immediatlie aftir tho called me because thou hadst notte the minutes. Thou shouldst have gotten a goode celle phone planne lyk everybodi els in the worlde.

ITEM. Thou nedst to getten thyn owene topics. Lucretia? Costance? Stop messynge up myn game.

ITEM. Ich do suspecte that thou beginst to harbour unplesaunte thoghtes towards myn deere Kynge Richarde. & hereof I appeale thee John Gower that thou kanst not be verye enamourede of thatte heade on thyne shouldres.

ITEM. Altho thou art rich yn landes and thus nede notte worke, thou japest at me for myn necessarie and profitable labour at the costoume hous and also thou disrespectest myn liverie the whiche ys not a coole thynge to do at alle. & hereof I appeale thee John Gower that thou art a wanker.

And of al thes matirs ich stande redye to preven them yn whatevir maner be judged resonable. And Godde and trewthe shal deciden whethir thou beest a wanker or nat.

(but thou totallye art and thou knowst yt)

samedi, mars 25, 2006

Sownynge th'encrees of my winning

Mes cheres lecteurez,

Yt tickleth me aboute myn herte roote that yow demen myn litel thoghtes and japes to ben worth redyng. Ich thonke yow from the bottome of my tankarde.

Ich wolde consolidate myn affinitee by offeryng yow myn liveree. Yow kan purchase and were clothyng that sheweth thyn affiliacioun wyth me, throgh thys website called zazzle:

Buye a Chaucer Blogge t-shirte!

Alle profites that ich make, the which are right litel, shal go vnto poore soules who lakk beere, wyn, and jollitee.

esy rydere

Beinge a royale favourite ys not alle yt is crackede up to be, for Kynde Richarde redieth to goon aboute the countrye and visite wyth the locales, and he hath not a scrivener he trusteth for to maken his rydere, so y have been encoumbred by the taske. Y thoghte of askynge myne owen scriven, Maister Adam Linkferste, butte he ys oute of toune.

Myn wo is tempred by the goodnesse of fortune, for yt semeth that it muchel plesen folke of the internette to reden of ryderes and thes contractes made betwene monarches and those who lodge them. Ywis, forto maken vertu of necesitee, peradventure yt shal plese yow gentils alle to reden of kynge richardes rydere which I have made (whil myn owen propre custoume worke pileth up lyk undersized denim jacketes yn a hipsteres closet!).




ITEM. the kynges chambre shal be adorned wyth tapestries depictinge the supremacye of kynge over subjectes by meanes of subtyl and lernede allegorie

ITEM. the kynges chambre shal be warmede wyth fiere-herthes vntil a mannes brethe turne not vnto myste

ITEM. ther shal be a garden nere in which the kyng maye walk, and yt shall be:

ITEM. the kinges chambre shal be nere ynogh to the chambre of lorde Robert de Vere the Marquis of Dublin so thatte a dronken manne myght fynden hys waye along such a distaunce in the derke of night

ITEM. the followinge victuals and beverages shal be available at alle houres:
-oystres yn gravy
-henne yn broth
-capone fryede in manere kentuckie, XIV pieces
-strayberyes yn goode red wyn
-wyn of whit and of red
-swete wyn
-II botels of hennessie
-case of cristal
-watir fayre and clene (MUST BE FAYRE AND CLENE)


ITEM. yn the hal shall be sette the biggeste damne throne that yow kan fynde. in no wys shal eny chayre yn the halle even compare to how bigge the throne ys. none shal sitte upon or touche the throne except oure lorde the kynge.

ITEM. feestes shal be held in hal at a goodlie tyme. if the kyng wish not to come to hall forto eten, yow shal not bugge hym aboute yt

ITEM. halle feestes shal feature one (I) byrde course and two (II) fisshe courses and one (I) blancmange course and eek fowre (IV) courses involvinge pecockes and sixe (VI) maners of rostted flesh and also brede and spyces wyth ale and wyn enough to gladden the hertes of men

ITEM. aftir mete ther shal be AT LEESTE TWO OF THE FOLLOWINGE:
-II to IV wise clerkes that kan speken of cronycles of kyngez and other polycyez
-x pyperes, harperes, singeres, or sum combinacioun thereof
-I to III dancing bear(es)
-a childe uppon chere who can jangle als a jaye and japes telle


Ich and the Perle Poete, on Mont Dorse-Quasse

Lordynges, by Goddes grace ich yow biseche that ye forgyven me myn tardinesse yn updatinge myn blogge. In this droughty march, the customes house is unusualie bisy.

Ther ys one of the demaundes for myn advyce column that I am looth to lette passen unanswerede, yet also looth to answeren, so hevy are the paynes it driveth thurgh myn herte.

Hey, Geoff,
It's my (in all probability fruitless) ambition in life to discover the identity of one of your contemporaries, the so-called Pearl/Gawain-Poet. I've been casually researching identity theories for the past couple years now, but they just seem to go in circles. I recently stumbled across an article, however, entitled "Was the Pearl Poet in Aquitaine with Chaucer?" I eagerly await its arrival via ILL. In the meantime, I thought I'd assuage my curiosity by asking: was the Pearl-Poet in Aquitaine with you? And furthermore, why can't we find out who the talented (no offense to you, of course) bastard is?
Yours truly,
Lost in Transcription

Deere Loste in Transcripcioun,

O, thatte olde colde tyme on the montayne, when we ownede the worlde and nothynge semed wronge! Indede – the makere of Perle was “wyth” me.

Whenne y was butte X and VI yeeres, aftir mony a daye of kervinng at table for myn lorde Erle of Ulstere, I wente wyth myn lorde to werre in Fraunce.

In our compaigyne was anothir younge valet lyke myselfe, who likede all the beste songes by Machaut and Deschamps and evene boughte the importe single of ‘ma fin est mon commencement.’ He hadde a high-arched nose, and narwe face – possesede of a lene and powirful bodie wel suited for the jouste and the clashe of armes. We did swere ful depe to be brotheres, eche of us til other. And oure bloode was hotte for werre – & eke, as eftsoones we lernede, for othir thynges.


Fyghten togeder we dide, this valet and ich, in Rethel-toune whanne the Frensshe layde waste to yt to letten the Prince Noir from crossinge, and in the melee we were scatterede from the hoste, and we two dide runne like eye makeupe on a televangelistes wyf. We coude spyen no banneres of oure lorde, and yn the welken ronge the trumpours of the Frensshe in their victorie.

Fer from the toune, we cam at dawne to a mountayne ycleped Dorce-quasse. The sootie masse of the montaigne palede slowlie vntil yt was a colore lyke thatte of the smoke from the stille-burnynge towne. We hidde us undir a spreadinge tre. He loughe, and oped a gourde filled with a draught of wyn, and sayde, “Wel, syn we hath scaped togedre, I rekne tis tyme we starte to dryken togedre.”

The wyn was prettie nastie, yet pauperes non possunt electores esse. Y tolde hym of myne balades, and he dide recyte severale pieces in the alliterative style. He sayde vnto me “Thou sholdst endite on englisshe tonge, for yt ys relie the waye of the future.” “But I kan not rim, ram, ruf lyke thou kanst,” y tolde hym. “Wel, do thyne owne thynge.”

Depe did we stepe ourselves in drinke. Thenne – and by the waye ich assume thou wilt kepe this knowledge from dere Philippa! – we dide thynges that wolde make Alanus of Lille his hede explode. We dide thynges that wolde make Peter Damyan spontaneouslie combuste. We dide thynges that are notte even listede in Burchard of Worms. Rim, ram, ruf!

At morwe-tyde, he sayde me, “Thou knowst I am not of the scole of Edwarde II.”

“Me neithere,” quod I “‘Tis nobodies privitee but oures.”

Eftsoones, the frensshe dide fynde us ther, and cleppid us in irones and ledid vs ech fro othir. Y dide usen a smal mirour to regarde hym as y was takene awaye. Y was ransoumed for XVI pounde! A bargaine, I saye.


Whan passid hadde foure yeres, and y was made esquier, ich lernede that thys valet now was the stewarde of a manoure in Kent: he had bicom a fayre reeve and a merye. By lettre one lusti Mai he wrot me that he was ycomen Londonwardes for bisiness in the eschequer.

He pullede up outsyde of Westminstere on a dapple mare wyth gold rims. We sesede eche othir, and sodainely oure mouthes came togethir harde – myn litel hatte fallinge to the floore, and the doore openyng and Katharine Swynforde myn soon-to-be sistere-in-law lookinge out for a fewe secondes at myn straiyninge shoulderes seeinge us and sayinge nothynge unto me until aftirwardes -- for she ys a bundel of trouble.

Y mad a tokne excuse of goinge for to buyen salte-herringe, and the houre of vesperes did fynde the fayre reeve and ich post-coitale yn a geste roome at the Tabard. In the aftirglowe, he dide recyte vnto me a tale of Gawaine and the Grene knighte, of whiche he hadde two fitts ywritten. “Ywis,” quod I, “Shal Gavvaine swyve the wyf of Bertilak? And yf so, ergo, shal Gawayne paraunter swyve Bertilak?”

“Certes,” he sayd, “t’wolde plesen Kynge Richarde!”

“But forto speke of thygnes sadde and trewe. Come away with me! Thou knowst, it coude be like this, just like this, for ay.”

“Nay,” quod he, “Sholde this thynge seise us, ynne the wronge place, such as for ensaumple mass, thenne we sholde ben lit uppe lyke lollardes. If thou canst not hele yt, thou muste stande it.”


Whanne y did retourne, Katharine said vnto me, “Thou didst not buye salt herringe!” I hadde to proffren her al of my yearly tun of wyn just to get her to keepe it mum.

Y nevere saw the young man againe. Aenaes del Mar sans doute stil dwelleth somewhere in Kente, and I have herde fame of hym that he dide make a rime of Gawaine where Gawaine resisteth the ladye. And he dide make a rime of a Perle thatte was loste. And manye otheres. And I dide marrye myne darlinge Philippa, and dide sette up shop at the customes hous.
So yes, I knewe this makere of which thou spekest. I knewe hym wel. And for some resoun, whenevere myn thoghtes turne vnto hym I here some maner of softe chords playede on a giterne, and y se a smal, goldene statue recedyng awaye from me, which I tokne to be myn loste vertu. Love kan be a righte Lombarde, sometimes.

May love not be a Lombarde unto thee.

-Le Vostre G

(recopyed with manye a teere from March XVI, MMVI)

Aske Chaucere, Parte the Firste

My dog is a retriever, but he won't chase a ball. Every time I throw a toy across the room, he climbs in my lap and licks my face. I know he needs exercise--what do I do?
--Pinned To The Floor

Ma Cher Pinnede to The Floore,

By my feithe, firste y oght to praise yow for yowre carefulle husbandrie and governance of yowre hounde. Ther arn sundrie folke who fede ther houndes with rosted flessh, or milk and wastel-breed and reken litel of the helthe of the dogges in question. Yowre care maken myne eyes to watre with teres, so like it is unto my love for litel Lowys my sone.
Actuallye, a tale of litel Lowys shal bere the kernel of myn counsel unto yow. This yuletide, y gave hym an astrolabe with instructions written by yowres trulie with muchel care and laboure. But whatte does he opene firste? The XBOX CCCLX thatte my Lorde John of Gaunte gave vnto hym. The astrolabe ys styll in its brighte shinye wrappinge papere.
By thys ensample yow might undirstonde that alle thynges taken aftir ther nature, especialie dogges and litel boyes. And Plinie the Eldre telleth us in booke 8 of historie naturale that houndes do chace the enemies and bestes awaie from ther maistres, and yliche that the hostes of Garamante and of Castabale didde usen armies of dogges, for they arn fierce and bloodie. So yow can see thatte "toyes" are not goinge to do it. Yow nede fynden some animal or enemy for yowre dogge to kille, and thenne he will reallye go atte yt.

Le Vostre G


Sir -
Ich wishe for adyce in the matter of fashion and armes. Ys it verrily a mistake to wear a lilyflour in my helm? (Ich have a shylde of golde.)

Mon Sire Thopas,

By seinte Jerome, finallye someone who kan spelle! Messire Thopas, yow seem a man fair and gent, and Y sholde muchel relish for to tellen yowre tale. Ich shalle have myne peple calle yowre peple. As for the lilye? It dependeth how whethir yow wolde ben 'easte coaste' or 'weste coaste.'

Le Vostre G

My betrothed, a most wicked man, betrayed me near as bad as Tereus did Procne. His woman of choice commited, though, that villainy which women do best, and tempted him away. Presently it is not legal, where I live, to have either of them killed for this treachery -- what shall I do to avenge the wrong they both have done to me, and to my virtue? Their joy at my grief does pain me so.
-Cor Fracta Est

Ma Cher Coeur Brisee

Thoughe y love a goode revenge tragedie as much as the nexte guye, y muste counsel yow to a bettre path. Yow sholde maken pece and kepe faithe, not wyth thyne betrothede nor wyth this womanlie Diomede, but rathir with yowrselfe. For vengence aperteneth and longeth al oonly to juges. Remembre yow that pacience is a greet vertu of perfeccioun, and remembre that ther are tymes ordained unto al thynges by the first moevere -- of the ookes, and of the hard stones, and of man and womman seen we also, in youthe as well as age, alle shal be dumped , a kyng as shall a page - som dumped on dates, som dumped by telephone, some dumped in compaignie, som dumped allone - ther helpeth noght, al goth that ilke weye.

And thus, take two pintes of hagen dasz dulce de leche, a ful seson of buffie the vampyre slayre, and calle me in the morninge.

Le Vostre G

By my feith, a longe poste. Yt hath muchel distractede me from myne woole accountes, and now I nedes muste worken late ynto the night.

(recopyed from Februarie XXIII, MMVI)

Angrie Note from Gowere

BSL! It semeth Maister Gower hath discovered the privitees of myne blog, and that same lewede foole hath rede of all the thynges I saie ayeinst hym. For thys morninge he sente me the followinge lettere:

Mon Cher G,
Pour me insulter sur l'internette est l'accion d'une tresdishonorable homme. Jeo vais removere tout mencion de toi de mon tresbon oeuvre la confessio d'une amante. Et nolo tecum cenare veneris die.

Notte to mencion thatte Y have alwayes been very pleasaunte unto yow and nowe you rewarde me with thys? I will staye in myne monastic celle and weepe for oure freindshippe.

-A bettere and more gentil G

Whatte a showe-offe. He kan be a drama queene in thre languages!

(recopyed from Februarie XX, MMVI)

Top X Serches in Myn Networke

10. John Gowere swyving a donkey
9. woolen hose
8. discounte ale
7. Kent
6. Macrobius for dummyes
5. howe to thinly veil acquaintences as fictional characteres
4. arabic numerals
3. readynge %(%(%ing chancerye hand
2. Sheene palace dynnere guest listes
1. Katharyne Swinford nude

(recopyed from Februarie XVII, MMVI)


Oh newfanglenesse! Y have learned the privitees of the manye abbreviaciouns ywritten on the internette. OMG: "oh mine ++DOMINUS++". ROFL: "rollinge on the floore laughinge". IRL: "in reale lyfe." WTF: "whatte the swyve?"
Beinge somethinge of an innovator myselfe, Y presente to yow, churles and gentils alle, the followynge abbreviaciouns. May they serven yow welle in your internette communicacioun:

GP: gentil person
WC: woole customes
XC: Exchequer
BATJG: biggere arsehole thanne john gowere
BSL!: by seinte loy!
OTPBRB: Offe to parliamente, be ryghte back
SNAPFU - BYXCA: supposedely nyce annuitie paymente fuckede uppe by the XC againe
KRBMA: Kynge Richarde II buggynge me againe
AOMSHJDOTBD: anothere of myne servauntes hath just dyede of the blacke death
EISBYMIWATCHDNSTHD: eftsoon I shall be ycleped mad if worke atte the customes house doth not settle the helle downe

(recopyede from Januarie XXVII, MMVI)
Wel, here ich am in a newe place. The firste thynge I shal doon is copye myne several postes from the olde blogge.