Travel, tales, and a geste-bloggeresse
Al the mene while, Ich continue to write of the Tales of Canterburye, which drafte doth come alonge verye slowlie. To sette up the stories, ich am writinge a ‘general prologue’ in which ich do telle of alle of the pilgrimes and ther lyves, and ich do liste al of the grete estates of societee. Alas, thogh, for toile and labour! For ich did nat devise how manye pilgrimes or of what maner, and now sum do nat ‘fitte in’ to the reste, so ich muste cut hem out. Ich shal liste a fewe of hem for yow, my gentil rederes – peraventure thes kan be putte yn to the ‘speciale edition’ of the tales when they aren publisshede on dvd.
General Prologue Outtakes:
A PROFESSIR was there, yn clothes of grey
The whiche she boughte laste yeere for MLA.
Ful seuene yeere at grad schoole she had laboured
And yet ful litel Fortune hadde hir favoured;
For everie tale of hires was ‘welawey,’
And ‘publishe soone ich muste or elles deye.’
The scole she taughte at was ferre down the roade
And eek she hadde, ich trowe, a V-V loade.
A CLOWN ther was, and he wore yellow hose
Ful white weren his chekes and redde hys nose
Lyk to a Kennedye in elder yeeres.
A horn he honkede right loude for to heere
An rode vpon an vnicycle faste
No man on horse haue ich sene make such haste
As thys performere dide vpon oon whele.
And yet, me wondrid at the childrene fele
That dide cry ‘no’ and ‘welawey’ at hym
For whanne he wolde a tricke or jape begin
No childe wolde staye to spyen out yts ende.
Trewelye, no gentil was this Clownes frende:
Why feere they swich a man wyth paynted face
Who of baloones doth portraye every race
Of animals, and offreth cakes and jellie?
Certes, he beth less fearsome than R. Kelly.
An INDIAN CHIEF, a COWBOYE and a COPPE
A WERKERE and a LEATHER MANNE (a toppe)
Did marche togedir in fraternitee
Al thogh thei were of varyinge lyveree.
Thei knewe sum auncient magicke remedye
For “Y M C A” dide they ful loude crye,
And lifte ther armes lyk vnto menne gone woode.
And eek yt semede their mappe was nat too goode:
Thogh Canterburye-warde we headede Est
In unison thei seyde to us ‘Go Weste.’
Al thogh ich muste to Italye, ich haue nat forgotten to make preparaciouns for my blogge. My suster-in-lawe, the most gentil Katherine de Swynforde, lyk a trewe and goode womman hath agreed to ‘guest-blogge’ the while ich am aweye. Ich truste that ye shalle enjoye redynge of her poostes. (Thos fannes of the Parys interviewe who craue more tales of high societee and noble lordes shal be right gladde to knowe that Katherine doth moue in verye riche and noble circles, far aboue any of my associacioun). O, ich do soore feare that ye shal come to prefer my guest-blogger to myn owene selfe, so clevir ys my suster-in-lawe.
And whanne ich do returne from the kinges businesse, ich kan promise yow sum more interviewes. This time the interviewes shal be nat simplie wyth nobles passinge thurgh Kente, but wyth men and wommen of the internet, and thos who make swete music and verse. (Yf thou art a notable person and wolde be interviewede be me, simplye emayle me at firstname.lastname@example.org.)
May the dayes of somer be sweete for yow alle. Ere Seynt Swithun's daye ye shall heare of me ayein.
post scriptum: So fewe of yow haue respondede to the photographie contest that ich do wondere, do ye alle have secret identiteez to protecte? Or peraventure manye of yow are strikkene wyth the plighte of leprosie and are thus skittishe aboute shewinge yowerselves? Or it mighte haue been juste a bad idee on my parte. The defaulte winneres shal be announcid in August, so if ye wisshe to enter, ye still have tyme, and yower submissiouns wolde bringe muche joye to me.