Oones ayein ich must demaunde yower pardoun, for many dayes haue passid syn ich haue poosted heere. BSL, the humoures of my bodye and the accion of the yeeres hath doon me gret displesaunce, for whanne ich visited the physician and he did examyne myn uryne he did fynde gret amountes of "bad cholesterol" in my choler and not ynogh "good cholesterol" in myn phlegm. And thus he did avise wyth muchel wagging of the fingre that ich sholde keepe mesure in myn diete and ete no superfluitee of food, and also that ich sholde taak up sum maner of exercise. Whanne ich cam hoom, Philippe was in gret joye to lerne of this, for she seyd that ich was "blowing up lyk post-Kevin Britney."
So ich haue ben yiven up to sondry peynes and tormentes far more grevous than thos recorded in the helle of Dant -- many grim machines that doon twisten myn limbes this wey and that, and bicycles the which travel no wher (ywis, hym Sisyphus wolde haue a conveyance swich as thes 'stationary bicycles' which labor the legges but move nat oon paas forward), and large men who clamor at me to "feele the burn." Ywis, ich wolde rather feele the burne of the flaymes of sathanas than feele the burn of the gym! Ich wolde rather be on a desert island y-stranded wyth Johannes Gower than to jog thurgh Kente wyth a litel headband and sum sport shoon.
But for to coom to my mateere, savyng myn owene personal peynes, this is a tyme of celebracioun. Yt hath been moore than a yeere syn this blog hath been at blogspot. And eek it is a tyme of the yeere that bringeth me muchel joye. And thus, in the spirit of an poost from last yeere, ich wolde aske yow, my gentil rederes, to celebrate myn werkes:
...ich praye yow permitten me oon smal moment of sentimente.
This week-ende shall see the firste daye of Aprille. Bifor Aprille was the cruellest moneth (whatever that meneth!), it was a moneth of coloures and cries, and pilgrymages. Yt was, I sholde saye, myn favourite moneth.
Ich am nat oon to tooten myne owen horne, but this week-ende ich wolde asken yow to declaymen my tales. To yowrselves, to yowr frendes, or simplye in the marketplace or churchyarde. For charitees sake, ye coulde declaymen them to beggares, leperes, or humorlesse rogues who studien engineerynge. Wherever ye proclaymen them thogh, do yt so in loude voyse and cleere, for yt is only fooles who think a poeme lith on the page aloone.
Yf thou knowst nat this maner of Englyssh, be nat ashamed. Yf thou kanst reden thys blogge, thou kanst reden myn Englisshe. Talke to yt slowlie, as if it were an olde relative whom thou lovest verie muche, and yt shal talke back to thee.
I, Galfridus Chaucer, do invite all my rederes to poost yower contribuciouns as comments to this poost - ye maye make videoes for ye-tube of redynges of myn werkes or of adaptaciouns, ye maye poost linkes to mp3s, or to events, or to peyntures or animaciouns or what-evir ye wolde present to the othir rederes of myn blog to celebrate this joyous moneth. Thos who teche or studye myn werkes may leve testamentz of experiences in yower class roomes, or explain why or whan ye first began to studien myn writinges. May it plese yow to linke, quote, cite and pass this on!
Ye may fynde myn tales heere or on the websytes ich list on myn sidebar.
A very happy "Whan that Aprill" Weekend to yow.
And now, ich must go run for an hour.