Geoffrey Chaucer Hath a Blog

Ryddles for the Holidayes

2011-12-25T05:23:00.005Z

As ye knowe, my grete freende the writere Virginia Wulfstan doth love tradiciounal literature, and she hath devoted herself to gatheringe bits of oold literature and publisshing them for the Hrothgar Press. And alwey she ys pilinge manuscriptes and oold bookes upon my doorstep. Al thogh she hath nat convynced me of the gretenesse of the alliterative long lyne, Virginia speketh trewe about the grete awesomeness of muchel of the earlye literature of thys countrye, althogh yt oft soundeth lyk unto a Klingon wyth a stomach compleynt.

Oon the best bookes that Virginia Wulfstan hath to me y-loaned ys ful of grete riddles. Thes are thinges of muchel pleasure, for ye the redere must guess the answere of the thinge. Ryddles are totallye a waye to passe the tyme at awkward familye dinneres, and thei maken me to thynke that the Anglo-Saxones must have had many awkwarde familye situacions to endure, what wyth the feudinge and all. And eek peraventure ryddles were a waye to breaken the ice whan meetinge othir riddle enthusiastes duringe holidaye travel.

For yower pleasure, Ich have found sum of the riddles yn the old booke of Exeter yiven me by Virginia Wulfstan, and Ich have translatid those concerninge thys festive seson of the holidayes. No answirs shal Ich pooste, for Ich wisshe nat to ruine yower fun.

THE RIDDLES OF THE EXETER BOOKE CONCERNINGE ASPECTS OF THE HOLIDAYE SESOUN, TRANSLATID YNTO PROPER ENGLISSHE BY G. CHAUCER

Ryddle:

Everye familye hath me yn a separate forme;
My bodye ys made of bacones companioun,
And sprinkled wyth spicerye that kan spinne straunge visions.
Were thou to looke on a liste of my partes
A cake thou might thynke me, or confeccioun swete,
Yet wyth the addicioun supplyed by adults
Ich kan crusshe down alle earth-dwellers as no cake evir koud,
Nor no bundt hath a byte as brutal as myne.
Ich am unholye unguent, uncles bane – what am Ich?

Ryddle:

A man crepeth yn and taketh me from the crawelspace,
Thanne setteth me up yn ceremonye, yet no sylver doth he circle round me.
Ich heare many harde wordes, and watch manye wrestlinges.
Thogh neyther green nor graythed wyth golde, grand am Ich,
Talle do Ich stande, thogh no armes nor no legges Ich ne have:
Ich am for the rest of us: saye nowe my name.

Ryddle:

At a tabel thei pulle at my heed and my feet.
Ich perisshe wyth a pop, yet presentes Ich bringe:
A crowne for the cruel oon who cleaved me in twayne.
Yet thogh crowned lyk kinge, he shal know muchel care:
For yn the scroll of my bodye are writ woful puns,
And thogh he looke longe, laughe shal he nevir.

Ryddle:

An enemye murdered me, made me molten,
Shaped me in castes, cooled me and set me.
In me he set splendors manye, spelles to werke,
The newefangle conjurations that make nerdes rich
And paie for manye a prius yn the baye area.
He gave me a wyde face, on which ys writ
Alle that any crafty one mighte wisshe to knowe.
The shapes of my word-scars are made wythout winges --
No sky-fowles need feel death-sore to craft my chapters.
Ich shal leave no meal for the sound-moth,
No warm place for the page-worm,
For Ich am a cold castel, thogh called a fyre.
Ich am yiven as a gift this yeere, a default item
For relatives that seeme to have everythinge els.
Hippolytas daughtirs made me, hard ys my shell.

Ryddle:

Yonge and oold wayte for me
For Ich come oonly on one daye.
Sum tyme Ich bringe regeneracioun,
And sum tyme Ich bringe tales of sharkes that flye.
Yet no sharke evir shal Ich jumpe,
For Ich am eterne.
Who, who, who, am Ich?

Ryddle:

Ich am a human as thou art, thogh part somethynge els –
Yower shape Ich weare somewhat, yet straunge ye wolde fynde me.
In waste and fastness Ich lyve, and Ich wish warre upon yow.
No room yn my herte for the glee of the harpe,
And yower singinge doth spur me to hatred and plots.
Saye my name soothly, yt beginneth wyth G.

Ryddle:

Ich broghte merciless shame upon a grete myth
Many yeeres bifor the poyson of prequels appeared.
Thos heroes ye love look hilarious within me,
And even a queen bea kan nat make me swete.
Yet ful often sum fannes fynde mirthe yn my madnesse,
Thogh Ich make them itchy and lumpy, thei love me yet.
And thei traded me yn tapes that thei took to convenciouns
Until the yeares of yetube whanne al kan see me with eye.
On thys daye of lyf, on thys special daye of sterres,
Telle me, force wyth yow, what ye thynke Ich am.

Ryddle:

A fyre-brand Ich beare, on the boss of my brain-shield,
Before me a bright beacon to blynk in the nighte.
Yif ye gazed on my head-prow, that it glewen ye wolde sweare.
Thogh al my stable-feres did laugh me to scorne,
And lefte me no leave to laughen in their lapp-horses games,
Yet oon morninge whanne erthe-breathe stuck thike to the welkin,
The proud-furred man cleped me to the front of hys teame.
He needed my flame, the fierce shyne of my sneeze-door.
Ich did leade the warband that nighte. What ys my name?

A Holidaye Uppe-Date

2011-12-25T05:03:00.004Z

My gentil rederes,

Long tyme hath it ben sithen Ich have upon my blog yposted. Ywis, many a thinge hath been afoot chez Chaucer. Yif ye wisshe for some japes and games for the holidayes, ye maye turne the leef and skippe to the next poost, but for newes of yower Chaucer, rede on.

O gentils, ye looke nowe upon the wordes of an EX-clerk of the kinges werkes. Ich have that office y-quit, the which Ich have held for quite a while nowe. By seynte Martin, that job demaundid the verye clothes off my back! Whanne Ich was not consumed wyth the bisynesse of construccion and logistiques, Ich was beinge robbed and audited. Oftymes Ich knewe nat whethir yt was a robberie or an audit, so litel ys the distinction bitwene the exchequer and a derke forest ful of brigandes.

But farewell clerkeshep! Ich have rendered my notyce of thirty dayes unto My Lord the Kyng, and am nowe a free man. The drainage of the area bitwene Greenwich and Woolwich kan take the hekke care of ytself, by Jesu, and eek kan the manye and varyed requestes that a clerke of the werkes doth receyve dailye from My Lord the Kynge, includinge the creacioun of the moost elaborate allegoricale model raylroade yn Europe (“The Greate Traine of Being”) and eek a crystal palace cunninglye devysed ynto which no rumors or newes concerninge Justin de Beibre kan evir passe. To the laste requeste, Ich threwe my handes ynto the aire and seyde that Ich ne was no Dedalus nor no Pythagoras, and yif the kyng wanted me to do the impossible he sholde sende me to wizard school.

Soon Ich shal looke for a newe job, but for the nones Ich am enjoyinge sum tyme to followe my hobbyes. Ich have taken up ayein my grete avocation – the subtil and excellent sporte of parkour. Yt ys a thinge of muchel blessedness to scalen the walles of breweryes or merchauntes houses and to leape and jumpe about lyk unto a very agile smal deere or verye powerful rabbit. Sum tyme my Lord the Kyng doth joyne me for my practise of parkour. We have grete pleasure yn clymbynge to the toppe of steeples or gret toweres whereupon eagles do perche, and we beholde the gret beautee of the contree al aboute us, and thanne oft we dyve down into a conveniently placed cart ful of hay. This oon tyme we ran ynto an Italien yclept Ezio in ower cart, that was from Florence, and he and Ich talkid a litel bit about ower favourite partes of the Purgatorio.

And what wyth al thys leapinge and jumpinge (the which hath in deed caused me to lose some weight, thogh Ich am stille far from the state of my youthe), Ich have had but litel tyme for to bloggen.

But alwey Ich do wake earlye in the morninges in thys festive sesoun, and thus Ich thoghte Ich wolde with yow gentils share sum mirthe for the holidayes. Ye maye fynde yt in the next poost.

Wyth al of my greete love and affecioun, and grete and good wisshes for yow and yoweres,

Le Vostre

GC

A Message from the Pardoner About Synneflix

2011-09-20T00:15:00.018Z

Gentil rederes,

Ye maye have noticed that many thinges have chaunged wyth the "Synneflix" servys of the Hospital of St. Mary of Rouncesvalles ovir the past monethes. And yet todaye hath born a thinge of grete joye. BSR! (By Seynt Ronyon!) for the Pardoner himselfe hath written an emayle ful of grete care and wo and muchel language of lamentacioun, lyk unto the worke of Margerye Kempe. And in thys message he doth share al the conseil of his compayne Synneflix regarding the divers varietees of penaunce thei do nowe offere. Ich do use the magique of cutte and paste to putte the emayle heere, if ye have nat yet gazed upon it.

Very busye, but love to yow alle,

LVGC

--

AN EMAIL FROM THE CHEEF PARDONER OF ST. MARY ROUNCESVALLES (i.e. SYNNEFLIX)

FROM: CHIEF PARDONER OF ST. MARY ROUNCESVALLES, AND LEDERE OF SYNNEFLIX
TO: OWER LOYALE BRETHREN AND SISTREN
RE: TRADITIOUNAL PENAUNCE VERSUS INDULGENCES VIA SYNNEFLIX

Mea maxima culpa. Ich moste maken explanacioun unto yow alle. Ich do wryte thys emayle aftir Ich have walked twelve tymes the roade from London to Canterbury and back wearinge no shoon and IV hayre-shirtes.

It appeareth from the feed-backe over the laste fewe fortnightes that many feythful soules did thinke we at Synneflix lakked in dignitee and humbleness by cause of the maner in which we did announcen the separacioun of tradiciounal penaunce and ower newe sale of indulgences, and eek the chaunges of donacioun required for ech different mode of achievinge spiritual helthe. Swich a thing was nat ower entente, and Ich do praye yow all may me pardon. Nowe Ich shall telle yow of how this cam to pass.

For many a yeere, my gretest feere for the Hospital of St. Mary Rouncesval and ower compaye of Synneflix hath been that we wolde nat maken the chaunge from success in regular penaunce to success in indulgences. Moost hooly orderes that have a knakke at sum thinge – lyk Cluny at beinge verye solemn or the Cistercianes at clearinge forestes – do nat become grete at noveltees that the folke desyre as the yeeres do passe (for us, this thinge is indulgences), by cause thei have greete feere of harminge their initiale actes of devocioun, or, as Odo of Cluny seyde, "ruininge the brand." In the ende, thes orderes com upon the realisacioun too late that thei have nat yiven enough labour to the development of newe practises, and thei lose all donaciouns and patronage and then sum newe order taketh ovir and getteth all the glorye, lyk the Franciscans.

Heere at Synneflix we are makinge a ful faste trasmutacioun, and yet Ich have nat written unto yow, deere brethren and sistren, and in that Ich have synned gretely ayeinst yow. Forsake nat yower spiritual kindred at Synneflix, that have alwey cared deeplye about removinge synne from yower soule and sylver from yower purs.

In the eye of my minde Ich see that as thes chaunges did come in ower systemes, Ich was soore tempted unto pryde by cause of the grete spirituale victories of the past. Long tyme, our hous hath thryved by makinge bettir ower servyces of penaunce, without muchel communicacioun from me to yow, our customers.

But nowe me peyneth soore that Ich have nat come amonge yow, in yower parisshe churches, and yiven unto yow, goode men and women, a justificacioun of the resons wherefor we aren separatinge tradiciounal penaunce and indulgences, and charginge moore for both. And eek if I do come to yower churches Ich also have some hoolye clawes of a velociraptor that, whenne plaunted in the grounde, do cause alle croppes to growe wyth grete vigor.

But ynogh about velociraptores: herkneth, lordinges, and Ich shall explayne our conseil and ower acciouns as in this caas. For as every soule doth knowe, radix malorum est absentia bonarum publicarum relationum.

Many goode soules love ower penaunce servyce, as Ich do, for it covereth nearlye everye synne that humankinde kan devise, and several othirs knowne oonly to Carolus de Sheene. We at Synneflix want to advertise the breadthe of ower incredible tradiciounal penaunce so that folk in every shire of Engelonde knowe that yt ys stille heere, and is a grete option for thos who wisshe to have their synnes absolved wythout a shadewe of a doubt. True penaunce in the olde style perchaunce may nat enduren for aye, but we wisshe yt to laste as longe as yt mighte. At leaste that ys what we are sayinge.

Yet Ich have grete love for ower indulgences, by cause thei are integrated ynto my TV, and Ich can receyve pardon a pena and a culpa eny tyme Ich do desyre. The benefits of ower indulgences are of a different and moore lucrative nature than the benefits of tradiciounal penaunce. We feele the neede to focus on rapid improvement as indulgence and pardon technologies evolve, wythout havinge to mayntainen compatibilitee wythe ower tradiciounal penaunce servyse.

So we did come to the realisacioun that penaunce and indulgences are becominge two busynesses that have bitwene them a grete diversitee, wyth verye different cost structures, different benefits that need to be marketed in different wyse, and different theological, eschatological, and liturgical implicaciouns, and we need to let ech oon growe and function on its owene. Yt is a soore thynge for me to saye this unto yow aftir many yeeres of yiving esy tradiciounal penaunce wyth pryde, but we we thynk it is necessarye and beest: in yet a few weekes, we shal yiven a newe name unto ower tradiciounal penaunce servyse, and we shal clepen yt “Slothster.”

We did choose the name “Slothster” for that it maketh reference to the sloth of which ye are guiltee if ye com nat to penaunce. We shall kepe the name Synneflix for indulgences aloon.

For me, the practys of traditional penaunce hath always been a thynge of joye, especiallye by cause our customers have putte their sylver into niftie red envelopes to signifien the payne of their sadnesse at their sinne. O, Ich do love thos red envelopes. How thei do tend to pyle up in the treasurie! Ower Slothster servys shal stille involve alle of thes steps, including the red envelopes.

And yet why nat consider indulgences? Reallye, seriouslye. Thei aren muchel faster, and ye can even purchas them upon yower Exboxe CCCLX.

Ye maye wisshe to purchas an indulgence eftsoon, for peraventure aftir redinge of thys message ye shal comen upon a peinture of a kitten wyth a lightsaber and ye shal laughen so harde that ye shal perisshe from this worlde. And then thy soule shal crye in helle for thou hast nat purchased an indulgence from us. Trewleye, ye shalle be ROTFITOD, or "rollinge on the floore in the outer darknesse."

Some theologians will likely thinken that we sholde nat splitte traditiounal penaunce and indulgences, for that it playeth faste and loose wyth doctrine. And sum "penaunce one poynt oh" folkes may saye that we sholde nat rename our tradiciounal penaunce “Slothster” for that swich a name tendeth to maken tradiciounal penaunce sound less attractif.

Ower viewe is that with this divisioun of the busynesses, we shal spreade moore blessedness thurgh the sale of indulgences, and we shal sprede moore blessedness thurgh tradiciounal penaunce. It may hap that we shal fynde we have chaunged too hastily – yet that lieth in the future and no man may know aught of it. Goinge forward, Slothster wille continue to runne the best tradiciounal penaunce servys, while Synneflix wille offer the best indulgence for many maner of synnes, hopefullye thurghout the globe of the erthe thurgh the succour of Brother Broadbande and Suster Aethernet.

It trewely doth myn herte good, moore so than a draughte of moyste and corny ale, that so many of yow brethren and sistren did sticken wyth us, and Ich aske grete pardon of thos who felt that we were despitous or shewinge of hoker or bisemare in ower treatement of them.

Wyth alle love and affecioun, and many a kisse of felawshep,

Le Vostre

PARDONER IN CHIEF

P.S. Wolde any of yow wisshe to purchas the undershirt of screen legend Anthony Quinn? Yt is a thinge of grete value and ich kan guarantee yts authenticitee. And eek ther are also a fewe of the holy grayle for sale as well.

Additiouns to the Boke of Sir John Mandeville

2011-06-01T03:30:00.002Z

Gentil rederes,

For a loong tyme, my grete freende and sum-tyme co-blogger, the noble Knight Sir John Mandeville, hath been compylinge a booke of travels, in which he recordeth the grete wondirs of the worlde and eek which hotel to staye yn whan ye visit the reaume of Prester John and swich lyk mattirs.

Recentlye, Sir John hath emailed me wyth sum addiciouns to hys booke, the whiche Ich do pooste upon thys litel blog at hys requeste. Peraventure thys wisdam of sondrye londes shal be of use to yow, good rederes, yf ye are planninge to travel yn the somer monthes.

Be safe yn yower travels, good folk, and be ware of swich beestes as the Honey Badger,

-Le Vostre
GC

ADDENDA TO THE BOOKE OF SIR JOHN MANDEVILLE

OF THE DOUBLEDE RAINBOWE

Yn the lande of Californie Ich, John Mandeville, did see a doublede rainbowe. In the name of Jesu! Yt was a doublede rainbowe, all-wei. Lo, yt was a wonder. Lo! Avant! Ha! Ho! Hale! Oho! By Jesu! Regarde yt! Yt beginneth to seme as it wolde be even a triplede rainbowe. By the Ark upon which Noah did sayle the see, yt ys fulle on. By Jesu! By Jesu! What doth swich a wondir meane? By Jesu! Yt shyneth so gretely. Oho! Yt shyneth full fayre and good to see. Lo! Avant! Yt ys ful fayre to looke upon. By Jesu! By Jesu! Yt ys a doublede fulle rainbowe! By Jesu! What doth yt meane? Telle yt unto me. I know nat what maner of signifiaunce ther ys for swich a merveil. By Jesu, yt ys a wonder. Lo! Ha! Lo! By Jesu!

At the which poynte, oon of my felawes seyde to me “By any chaunce, art thou related to Margery Kempe?”

OF THE TOWNE OF FUNKE

Thogh Ich did talke about yt, and talke about yt, noone of the inhabitaunts of thys regioun wolde take me unto thys place.

OF THE CATTE OF NYAN

And sum men seye that in the ile of Langos ys the doghter of Ypocrasis who hath been transformid. She appeareth yn the maner of a grete pye of swete berryes wyth the hede and limbes of a catte, and the which singeth a songe of Nyan as it daunceth acrosse the skye. And yt ys seyde that he who kan watche thys catte for longir than eny other man, he shal have the doghter of Ypocras who shal turn ageyn yn to hir owene kinde and be a woman. But the songe ys of swich a nature that no man can heare yt and lyve.

OF THE CITEE OF PARADYSE

And ye shal understonde that in thys citee the grasse ys greene and the maydenes are fayre.

OF THE HONEYE BADGERE

And in the lande of Ynde ther ys the Honeye Badger. And yt ys seyde to be somdeel bad-asse.

The Honeye Badger doth grabben at snakes, the which is grosse, and yt doth yiven chase to jackales. Of the many wondirs Ich have seene in my traveles, no thing is just as crazye as the Honeye Badger.

For Pliny the elder saith that the Honey Badger is the beaste yn the world that is moost wythout feare. The Honey Badger reketh nat an oystre concerning any matter.

For yn yts mouth the Honeye Badger will seyze a cobra and then it shal runne back-wardes. Yif a snake crepeth up ynto a tree, Honeye Badger careth nat. Honey Badgere reketh nat an oystre concerninge any matter; swich a beeste as the Honey Badger doth take that which it desireth, with no let or hindrance.

By Jesu, yt ys a wondir to wacchen the Honeye Badgere dig. Of its digginge no man may maken comparaison. The Honeye Badger, god woot, ys reallye prettye bad-asse. Thei have no regard for eny other animal whatsoevir.

Yt ys seyd by the men of that contree that yf a Honeye Badger cometh to a hous full of bees, the Honey Badger careth nat. The Honey Badger reketh nat an oystre concerninge any matter. The Honey Badger chargeth anon-right ynto the mansioun of the bees to eten of the litel wormes, the which aren ycleped larva. And thogh the bees do speare the Honeye Badger wyth an thousande stinges, the Honeye Badger reketh nat an oystre, for yt is hungrye and careth nat concerninge the stinges of the bees. No thing can make delay for the Honeye Badger whan hunger possesseth yt. O what a crazye horesonne thys Honey Badger ys!

At one tyme, Ich, John Mandeville, did see a mighti combat bitwene a Honeye Badgere and a Griffon. The mattir stood in much doubt. The Honeye Badgere was eting of a mous. Chargeth nowe the Griffon at the Honey Badger, as if it wolde seye “Get thee hence!” Yet HONEY BADGER CARETH NAT! Honey Bagdere smacketh the merde out of the Griffon. And nowe the Griffon scratcheth at the Honey Badgere wyth its clawes ful of fowele venym.

It passid anon that the Honey Badger did slaye the Griffon and make to ete of the bodye of the Griffon, for the Honey Badger knewe nat that it had been empoysoned. While the Honey Badger did ete of the Griffon, the venym did corrupt and clotere hys blood, so that he falleth a-doun in a swowne. Ich did bihold that wondrous animal falle as yf ded. And yet the Honey Badger did but laye stille a litel while, and then did ryse up agayne and ete of the Griffones bodye. Ywis, it was as yf yt had received no blowe nor no wounde. And then that Honey Badger had a grete feeste of the large bodye of the Griffon for many a daye. And Ich do see that the Honey Badger ys lyk unto the Phoenix of Arabye, that riseth out of yts asshes. Lo, I know nat what maner of signifiaunce ther ys for swich a merveil. Methinketh Henry Bolingbroke sholde putte the Honey Badger on hys coate of armes.

Speciale Secret Kalamazoo Game: The Bradshawe Shifte

2011-05-14T00:48:00.008Z

By Seynt Viralemarketinge, a planne hath hit upon me. Graunt me pardon, gentils, for this nys nat a real poost, but rathir a sudden and urgent communicacioun to the grete scolers of Qalamazoo.

To alle the grete folke at Qalamazoo, to yow Ich do propose a game. It involveth a secret code phrase, sum maner of dauncing, and also peraventure snogginge.

I. Yif ye knowe and reden of thys poost of blog, ye maye walke up to eny person and saye the worde "Bradshawe Shifte."

II. Then, yif that person that ye have seyde that phrase unto knoweth also of thys poost, that person must doon a smal daunse at ones, no mattir where or whanne he or sche is askid. Be yt at a sessioun, or in the halle, or at a recepcioun, a daunse must be doon by the person who hath been "called out" by the wordes "Bradshawe Shifte." (Yif the person knowe nat of thys blog, then the askere loseth no thing but a litel tyme, for no maner scoler wolde evir be offendid by talke of the Bradshawe Shifte).

III. Yif the daunser doth performe the Bradshawe Shifte daunse successfullye upon beinge askede, the askere of the question must thenne yive unto the daunser eyther a drinke, a small amounte of moneye, or a kisse. The daunser hath the choys.

Maye ye be merrye at yower Bradeshawe-shiftinge!

(Pardon yif thys game ys nat verye elaborate. The first versioun did involve a beheadinge contest, but Ich koud nat werke out the logistics.)

O grete Scandale!

2011-04-08T18:58:00.002Z

Sum maner of route of studentez hath stolen the draftes of myn litel Tales of Caunterburye and are y-poostinge the tales on twittre.

Interviewe wyth Margarethe Atte-Woode

2011-02-22T05:18:00.014Z

O Goddess Synchronicitee, wyse indeed were the Polyce to make an album in thy honor, for lo! the werkinges of the world do oft contain the unusual and fortunate pairinges of eventes that are under thy dominacioun. For no sooner did Ich begin to thynke agayne on my tales of Caunterburye, than Ich did heare that the grete Auctor Madame Margarethe Atte-Woode hath a blog. Ich did emayle unto her -- and sche respondid!

Ich am alwey emaylinge grete auctores for to tryen to make interviewes (even thogh my first interviewe did nat go so wel). Ywis, rarely do thes grete auctores make response unto myn emayles. And rightly so, for thei aren busy folk and Ich nam nat but a symple man of offyces wyth litel writinges and a rathir shabby woolen hatte. But nat so was the case wyth Madame Atte-Woode. Wyth grete gentilesse, she did consent to be interviewede through emayle on my blog.

Ich was a litel confusid, for nevir have Ich actuallye interviewede a grete auctor, save for the tyme that Ich did talk to Franceys Petrark, and Ich totallye blewe it (“So, what ys thys ‘sonnet’ thynge, enyway?”). But Ich did trye my beste, and as my modir alwey seyde whanne Ich was yonge and Ich wolde lose at break-dauncinge competitions, yt ys the tryinge that counteth.

HIC INCIPIT INTERVISIO FACTA IN INTERNETTA INTER GALFRIDUM CHAUCER ET MARGARETAM APUDSILVAM

MARGARATHE ATTE-WOOD nedeth no introduccioun, for her bookes and writinges are avaylable yn all the scriptoriums and scriveneres shoppes yn the globe of the erthe. She hath creatid many examples of sum maner of writinge ycleped a “novel,” the which word soundeth faintyle Italyen to me. Among these newe “noveles” are The Hand-Maydes Tale, The Forblent Assassyn, Orikes & Crayk, and The Penelopiad. Her werkes of nonficcioun number among them Negotiatynge with The Dede and Payebacke: Debt and the Shadewe-Syde of Wele. Her moost fresshe and recent booke ys the Yeere of the Flood, the which returneth to the tales of Orikes & Crayk, and eek she hath both a blog and a feed on twittre.

GC: Oftymes my freendes do mocke me for the studye of oolde bookes, for that Ich am alwey poringe over Macrobius or the tales of Ovide or sum swich thynge. What thinke ye of oold bookes? What good have they yn this tikel worlde, the which chaungeth into newe and shinye thinges with each passinge daye?

MA: The oold storyes are the keyes to Dreame-land. Scratch a newe and shinye thing, and ye will fynde an oold and shinye thing lurking beneath.

GC: Ye maye wisshe to telle the rederes of thys blog of the magical beastes of the far lande of Canade. Ich have reade of swich thinges in the Travels of John Mandeville. Are the legendes trewelye to be believed?

MA: Yes, Mayster Chaucer, the tales ye heare are trewe (thogh I feare nat to be found in Mandeville). To wit, the Beaver, much hunted for his scent, which biteth off its owne Stones and casteth them behind yt to distract its pursuers — and in such maner often do ower owne Politicians behave. Yet other straunge beastes abound: the Ice-wormes, that heate themselves up to drill holes; and the Wendigos, that flyen hungrily and with sharp teeth and claws over the snowe with feet a-flayme, and devoure men, which some do name as Tax Collectors. And many more straunge and curious creatures abounde.

GC: What maner of writinge ys moost beneficial for the worlde?

MA: That ys beyond my power to saye. Manye bookes have done great harm, but those are of the political-tract kynde. Howevir, those works of invencion and poetrye that containe both laughter and instruccion will more prevail.

GC: What thinke ye ys the best conclusioun to ower longe warre wyth Fraunce?

MA: The best warre is no warre. Grete powers that pursue long and costlye warres waste their own substaunce, increase the substaunce of those from whom thei borrowe, and weaken their positions in relacion to their enemyes. But I predict that Engelonde will nat againe be invaded and conquered by Fraunce, as yt was by William. And a grete but muddye victory for Engelonde lieth in the future, at Agincourt, when - you may scarce credit it – longbowmen wythouten pants, all nakid to the breezes, will much affright the French nobilitee. Yet howevir much this maner of fightinge would plese one of yower humour, this victorie in the end (as it were) will profit Engelonde but litel.

GC: Yif ye koude yive sum advyce and conseil unto the Wyf of Bathe, what wolde ye telle her?

MA: Ich thinke she ys doinge quite wel on her own, and koud probablie teach me a trick or two! Natheless, schee might wisshe to do somethynge about the gap teeth. In future schee could get holp wyth thatte.

GC: Ich do notyce that yower verye well-renowned history of “Felices Clausulae” (or, Happye Endinges) hath no “G.” My wyf Philippa hath putte me up to thys: wolde it plese ye to considere writinge a shorte Happy Ending for G-eoffreye Chaucer?

MA: As the Happy Endinges always conclude wyth Death, my Happy Endinge for yow, deare Geoffreye, would include a long and well-loved Afterlife, both for yowerself and yower writinges — and that Ich believe Ich can assure yow. See, for instance, my litel tretys, Negotiatinge with the Dead, in which ye are quoted to much good effect!

GC: As a newe writer, Ich fynde it a thynge of muchel care and wo to putte wordes on to the payge. Mesemeth Ich have been at werke on my litel Tales of Caunterburye projecte for evir, and yet ther ys but litel texte for al of my biswinkful workinge. Have ye eny advyce for me and for othir beginninge makeres of ficcion and poesie?

MA: Ich kan predict that ye will fynde many publisshers in yeeres to come. Be pacient, and persevere! For the craft is so long to learn. But eventually, like yower Troilus, ye will look down in spirit on all who tryed to suppress yow, and laugh yower heade off.

GC: Nowe Ich am goynge to seye a fewe wordes, and yf it plese ye, ye maye responde wyth the firste thynge that cometh yn to yower hede whanne ye heare the worde that Ich saye. (Thogh thys did nat go too welle wyth Ms. Launcecrona in an earlier interviewe, peraventure yower grete wisdam and gentilesse shal make for bettir resultes.)

GC:The Black Deeth?

MA: 1) Inspiracioun for The VIIth Seal. 2) And for Boccaccio. As Alice Munro hath seyde, no mattir how awful a thynge may be, “It’s all material.” 3) That which raised wages for (the remayninge) labourers. Hey, there’s always a bryghte syde! 4)Goinge to the dentist in the 1940s. 5) And, as luck wolde have it, the Great Mortalytye -- as it was trewly spoken of in yower tyme -- is one of my litel hobbyes. See Payeback, Chapter V.

GC: Chivalrie?

MA: Code of honour seldom followed, except in literature, and by parfit gentil Knyghtes; OR rescuing chained-up maidens, with soft-porne illustracciouns; OR sayinge thank you when someone openeth the door for you.

GC: Alchemie?

MA: 1) My recipe for Calla Lilies, a swetemete of great delicacye. 2) What geekes did in late mediaeval tymes.

GC: Greate Authores?

MA: Chaucer.

[Rederes, Ich do assure yow, Ich did nat edit thys interviewe!]

GC: Hope?

MA: 1) That which is always at the bottom of ye Box o’Evils. 2)The sine qua non.

MA: Gracious thankys in advance, dear Magister Chaucer, for all the excellent pleasurable books yow are yet to endite. Live well and prosper!

GC: And graunt mercy to yow, deere Madame Atte-Wood, for sharinge yower thoughtes and wordes on thys litel blog.

Fab-Lib: The Gentil Compaignye of Three

2011-01-30T00:35:00.008Z

Gentil rederes, as promised, Ich have a litel tale to yive unto yow, and it involveth sum audience participacioun.

For the feeste of the Newe Yeare, at the grete urginge of Virginia Wulfstan and the othirs of the Domesdaye groupe, Ich have made a New Yeares covenaunt: namely, that Ich shal retourne unto the writinge of my litel “Tales of Canterburye” projecte.

Many monethes agoon, Ich had been toolinge aweye at the Haberdassheres Tale, the which was nat really verye excitinge. So for to maken the retourne to thys project a sweete oon, Ich have put the Haberdassheres Tale yn the drawere, and have goon straight to the fabliaux. Ywis, yt is prettye awesome that but fewe have maad thes litel Frensshe tales of naughtinesse ynto the Englisshe tonge. And yet Ich feere that Ich have but litel graspe of the genre, so Ich have composid the followinge experiment, the which maye peraventure amuse thee, gentil redere.

For that the fabliau by yts kynde hath certayn certayntees, the which yive it an essence, Ich have essayed heere to produce a fabliau forme that kan be chaunged by the rederes and yet keepe some maner of yts fabliausity. Ye maye thynke swich an exercise queynte, but Ich saye yow that thys maner of thinge resembleth the “quodlibet” of a universitee debate, yn which the audience putteth yn the termes of the argument. And thus ye koude calle thys creatioun a fabliau quodlibetal, or eek a “fab-lib.”

Sothly, the maner of proceedinge may be explainid withouten much trouble. Ich have belowe y-writ the outlyne of a fabliau, the which containeth many blanke spaces. Bifor the fabliau, Ich have listed the maner of wordes that the tale ytself doth lacke. Ye, rederes, shal fille yn the wordes from yower corage or fantayse bifor ye see the tale ytself. Thanne, whan ye rede of the tale ye maye putte yn the wordes ye have chosen, and ye schall fynde a moost plesaunt and different fab-lib eech and every tyme.

Yif it plese yow, ye maye poost the most deliteful passages from yower owene fab-libbes yn the commentes.

Heere followeth the Fab-Lib of Galfridus Chaucer, Clerk of the Kinges Workes, Concerning the Compaignye of III:

Lyste of woordes:

1. universitee towne

2. adjectif

3. emotional qualitee resultinge from contente

4. craftsperson

5. adjectif denotinge extremitie

6. liquor

7. anothir maner of liquor

8. yet anothir kynde of liquor, the which hath a greene colour

9. large animal

10. type of buildinge

11. animal that ys nakid

12. Exclamation relatinge to a seynt associated wyth nakednesse

13. hair metal star

14. substaunce founde neare ants

16. cookinge ingredient

17. anothir cookinge ingredient

18. fablid ruler yn the East.

19. adjectif

20. unit used to measure sleepe

21. adjectif denoting wrath

22. savory herb

23. wommanes name

24. part of bodye

25. racy but acceptable worde for anatomicale feature oonlie possessid by men

26. adjectif meaninge intelligent

27. domesticated byrde

28. fruyte

29. item of furniture

30. adjectif generallie considerede unfortunate whanne applyed yn a stereotypical fashion to a female, regrettable thogh swich generalisaciouns maye be they seeme inherent to the fabliau forme

31. worde usid to designate a wonder

32. type of pastrye, plural

33. smalle item of ornamentacioun

33. place wher clerkes doon bisynesse

34. worde designatinge a dilemma

35. burrowing animal

36. type of rock

37. predatory mammal

38. livestock enclosure

39. worde for a man of loose morales

40. venue for naughti bisynesse

41. a Celtic Otherworld

42. Late Antique Writer

Whilom did dwelle yn [universitee towne] a riche makere of ropes, who did rente the toppe floore of hys hous to three [adjectif] yonge maydes.

Many a daye did the three yonge maydes dwelle yn that palce, wyth muchel [emotionale qualitee resultinge from contente], until oon of hem did marrye a good man, a wright who was a [craftsperson]. The two who did nat marrye were yclepede Janette du Boys and Christine de Neyge, and they were filled wyth sorwe for they needed to fynde a newe roommate.

It happed upon a weekende that Janette and Christine did throwe their oold friende an hekke of an engagement partye. So [adjectif denotinge extremitie] was that partye, and so deepe did the two joly maydes drinke of [liquor] and [anothir kynde of liquor] and [yet anothir kynde of liquor, the which hath a greene colour] that Janette and Christine did wake wyth a hangovir that did pounde yn their heades lyk unto a [large animal] on the top of a [type of buildinge]. And in the morweninge, they did comfort themselves and rubbe their heades. And shortly when Janette went unto the privy, she cryede out for ther was a man yn the batthe-tubbe, who was as nakid as an [animal that ys nakid].

“[Exclamation relatinge to a seynt associated wyth nakednesse], wherefore ys yt that a manne ys yn my bathtubbe?” seyde Janette.

“Feere nat, goode ladye,” seyde the man, “For Ich am a symple clerk, that has come to thys place for to lerne art, and Ich am ycleped Jankyn the Tripper. And Ich am y-layd yn thys tubbe for Ich did crasshe the weddinge partye laste nyght, and did drynke moore than [hair metal star], and so Ich do fynde myself yn thys tubbe.”

Withoute delaye, Janette did clothe Jankyn for to scape fro syne. And she wrappid hym in a gowne of hers that was close by, for she had no othir clothes to spare.

Janykn and Janette came out of the privy, and ther was Christine cookinge a breakfaste. But yet the breakfaste nas nat good, for she had made the egges taste lyk unto [substaunce founde neare ants]. And Jankyn seyde, “Let us maken vertu of necessitee. Ich knowe wel the crafte of cookery fro whan Ich did studye in Orleans. If ye fetche for me [cookinge ingredient] and [anothir cookinge ingredient], Ich shalle make yow a breakfaste that shall surpass those of [fablid ruler yn the East.]”

Nowe leve we the two maydes and oon clerke, and lat us see what did hap yn the chambres of the ropere, the which did lyve directlie downstayres. Lo, the oold ropere and hys [adjectif] wyf were soore troublid, for the partye of the night bifor had kepte them from sleepinge even oon [unit used to measure sleepe].

“Telle off thos maydes, husbounde, or thou art no trewe man,” seyde the roperes wyf. But the ropere toold hys wyf that he was soore tyred from the makinge of roopes, and he seyde he had no relisshe for to cause trouble to yonge maydes.

“Ywis, thou hast no relish to causen eny maner trouble for maydes yonge nor eek wyves slightlye oolder, thou shrimpe,” seyde the roperes wyf, and so she wente up the stayres herself and was verye [adjectif denoting wrath], and she wolde telle the maydes to nevir have swich a partye again.

So it fel thus that the roperes wyf came up the stayres and wythoute knockinge did come ynto the chambre, and bihold! She sawe Jankyn yn the gowne of a woman and he did clippe a sprig of [savory herb] from the plante nexte to the couche. And Janette did get muchel worryed.

And the roperes wyf cryede out: “Wherefore hastow a manne yn thy chambres, harlot? And why hastow clothed hym yn a florale gowne?”

“Nay, thys nys no man,” seyde Janette, “Thys ys ower newe prospectif room-mate, [womannes name].”

“Thou liest in thy [part of bodye],” seyde the oold roperes wyf, “For Ich knowe woman from man, and a woman hath no [racy but acceptable worde for anatomicale feature oonlie possessid by men].”

“Ye are mistaken, Goodwyfe Ropere,” seyde Janette, who was verye [adjectif meaninge intelligent], and she led hym and the roperes wyf yn to a derke syde-chambre where there was a [domesticated byrde] and a [fruyte]. In the derknesse, Janette arrangid thes yn clever wyse and then made the roperes wyf touch a [item of furniture]. And the roperes wyf seyde, “Ay, I see nowe she ys a woman!” and she took herself down-stayres to hir housbond.

III

Yet as it happed, Christine and Janette in their grete hungovernesse had forgotten that a mayde was cominge to visit to see yf she wolde lodge with them as their newe roommate. And thus a mayde who was [adjectif generallie considerede unfortunate whanne applyed yn a stereotypical fashion to a female, regrettable thogh swich generalisaciouns maye be they seeme inherent to the fabliau forme] came up the stayres. And thys mayde wore, so it happed, a gowne much lyk unto the gowne that the two maydes had yiven unto Jankyn the Tripper.

And the roperes wyf toold the ropere of the mayde who lookid so muchel lyk unto a man, and the ropere seyde “Ich shal see thys [worde usid to designate a wonder], for Ich feere that ye have been tricked, my wyf, and they keepe sum maner of manne up there and do synne wyth hym.”

The ropere went up-stayres, and anon it happed that yn the chambre the ropere sawe the newe mayde who wolde be a roommate. And he seyde, “Thogh my wyf saye thou be a woman, Ich know that thou hast made some jape or trickerie upon her, and Ich shalle prove that thou be a man.”

The ropere grabbed at the maydes bosom through her gowne, and he sayde, “Biholde, these [type of pastrye, plural] are but fals.” Yet they were nat!

The mayde did shoute and did stikke her [smalle item of ornamentacioun] in hys nose, and he was soore shamed and did go down-stayres to hys wyf, repentinge hys rudenesse and sayinge that ther was no man upstayres. And the mayde departid, for she koud fynde a bettir rentale elswhere.

Nowe passe we to Jankyn and Christine and Janette, who did gadir rounde the boord for to ete of the meale that Jankyn had cookid. Yt was the moost deintevous and savorie foode that evir Christine and Janette had tasted.

Then Janette bethought her sotilly and seyde, “We two kan nat cooke so wel, and swich a cook wolde make a fyne roommate.”

Jankyn did smyle and seye, “That wel me liketh. For Ich have come to thys towne but yisterday and have no place to staye, save for the stable of the taverne at the signe of the Beagle Roiale. Thys is a fyne rental and verye close to [place wher clerkes doon bisynesse].”

Yet Christine seyde, “But welawey, the oold ropere wol nat suffer us to have a man lyve among us. Thys is a [worde designatinge a dilemma, Ich suggest kankedort by cause yt ys a right good word]!”

Whiles the three so talkid, the ropere and hys wyf did have muchel wrangling among themselves, for the roperes wyf wolde have hym come up to apologize for his acciouns, and he wolde nat. And the roperes wyf seyde that the ropere was naught but a [burrowing animal] and a [type of rock], and she pulled hym up the stayres.

Than fel it thus that the ropere and hys wyf breste open the doore and ther founde the two maydes and the oon man etinge togedir.

A knife wyth gleminge blade the ropere did pulle right faste from hys boote, and he menacid the yonge clerke.

“Cry out harrow! Ther ys a [predatory mammal] in the [livestock enclosure]. By my soule, Ich nam no [worde for a man of loose morales] nor wil I kepe no [venue for naughti bisynesse]! Thou hast synned yn my house and thou shalt paye wyth thy lyf!”

Janette and Chrstine cryed out wyth feere, and Jankyn did rayse hys armes yn front of hys face for to warden hym from the knyves edge.

It happed that the Kyng and Queene of [a Celtic Otherworld] were walkinge ther yn the apartment, unseene by the mortal folke. For the Queene had grete delite to look upon rope-makinge and twyne and othir manner of fibrous construccioun, and the Kynge did oblige her by cause a long tyme agoon he had hir ravysshed down ynto hys underworld, as [Late Antique Writer] doth maken mencioun. It happed that they walked in on thys contencioun invisibli and did laughen at it.

“Biholde, my lady,” seyde the Kyng, “Thys man hath been caught in a tricky situacioun and shal be soore beaten. But Ich shal yive unto oon of thes maydes the yifte of speche so wys and resonable that the oold ropere shal make hys peace, and shal permit the clerk to lyven wyth the maydes.”

“Do ye that, my good lord,” seyde the Queene, “but forsooth, unusual gender-mixede livinge arrangements sholde nat come wythout heighjinkes. And thus Ich shal put a spelle on thes three, that always they shall be gettinge ynto unusual and likerous predicamentz. And lo, thogh ech tyme they koud solve eny problem by simplye telling the othirs of sum smalle secret or plan, they never shall do so until the verye ende, when thinges have bicom completelye messed up.”

And so it happed that through the sorcerie of the Kyng, Christine did seye that Jakke the clerk was a lovir of men al oon, and she swore that he had no likynge for women. By cause of the Kinges powere and the foolishnesse of the ropere, the ropere did believen her.

So ende we our mery tale, and so it happed that thes three did lyve togedir for many a yeere, and had many an aventure, as the Queene had seyde they wolde. And thes three did calle themselves a joly compaignye and they made a mirtheful virelaye that thei songe togedir. The note, I trowe, ymaked was in Fraunce, the wordes were swiche as ye may here fynde:

Come thee and clappe vpon ower gate

Longtyme have we wayted to see thee anewe,

Heere hires and hys and hires the kissinge ys,

For three, god woot, ys compaignye trewe.

Come thee and dauncen upon ower flete,

Trippe thee and tredde a paas al newe,

For there ys daliaunce heere that nedeth thy chere,

For three, sans doute, ys compaignye trewe.

Prettye Good Yeare

2011-01-24T06:28:00.011Z

By Seynte Simon Stylite, the labour and bisynesse of werke hath me exiled from the plaisance and jolitee of my litel blog. Sithen My Lord the Kyng hath been commitinge hymself to non-factionale, reasonablie stable rule, he hath been pusshinge me prettye harde wyth the royal werkes. Laast yeere did yerne ful yerne and, Ich devoutly praye, shal never yeelde the lyke. Swich a "to-doon lyste" hath never Noah ne seene, nor hath the muchel-overworked crewe of the Battelstar Ecclesiastica evir had so much stresse.

In the somer, My Trespuissant Lord the Kyng did bestowe upon me the responsibilitee of the werste “fixer upper” of alle the royale chapeles: that of Saynt George in Windesore, the whiche was basicallye aboute to collapse fastere than Charles de Sheene yn the privy of a hostel.

Yet Saynt Georges droopinge sanctum was but the prelude to my woe. For anon, yn the autumpne, ther was a gret tourney in Smithfield, at which noble knightes were to batter themselves demi-wayes to deeth for the amusement of the crowde and the honour of Engelonde, and thus "listes" were added unto my list.

Ich did propose the construccioun of a curious and craftie edifice maad all rounde yn the shaap of an egg, the which wolde have many circular rowes ascendinge, ycrammed with seates oon rowe above the othir, so that whan a man was set in oon degree he wolde let nat hys felawe for to see the accioun (thogh trewely the beere and hotte-dogge vendours wolde yet get in the waye).

Thys flewe nat. “In what overunkinde, auke, and weiward versioun of thys worlde, deere Geoffrey,” the Kyng did seye to me, “art thou a desiger of buildinges?” And so yt was decyded to forget all aboute my "stadium" idea, and rathir lavisshe the casshe upon the construccioun of a “Jumbo-Throne” for Kyng Richard. Ich did arrange, howevir, for the creacioun of many a bleacher for the fannes, and many a large foam hande the whiche was emblazoned wyth "BEATE ENGELONDE? ARE YOU CRECY?," and thogh the resultes were moore modest and simple than my firste planne, the labour was equallye hevy. Yif ye wondere, good rederes, where have been the poostes of blog, Ich shal but poynt towardes a not-fallinge-downe-nowe chapel and a wel-remembered sportinge event.

And thanne, after the labour of the grete tourney, the holidayes came, and Philippa did wisshe to celebrate a proper Festivus thys yeere (for she ys of Hainault, where Festivus ys heeld yn grete reverence by cause of Seynt Fraunk). Ywis, Ich knowe nat the difference bitwene a clerk of the kinges workes and a husband preparinge for the holidayes, for both envye the pack-horse.

For yif yt be nat oon thyng, yt ys anothir. Oi vey! The forginge of the Festivus pole by Gervais, the local blakke-smithe, was delayed, for the red-hote pole had y-borrowed been by a towne clerke for sum straunge and uncustumable activitee involvinge a shot-windowe. Thanne, ther was muchel debaat and stryfe yn the familie regardinge the proper arraungement of the "feates of strengthe" (apparantlie a pusshe-uppe conteste was ydeemed "nat good ynough.") Litel Lowys did scantlie retourne from Oxenforde yn tyme for the celebraciouns, bringinge wyth hym a date that did throwe the reste of us ynto a tizzie (she was a Wycliffite!). As a maner garnisshe upon thys cocktayle of chaos, ower catte decyded to posicioun ytself yn the Festivus turkeye immediatlye bifor the diner. BSL! And yit in the ende, for al my labour and grucchynge, for al the affrai and inquiete, we had a verray parfit Festivus feeste, catte haire notwithstondinge. Ich did even see my deere son Thomas, who did retourne from hys wonted journeyinge wyth The Duk of Lancaster, John of Gaunt. Trewelye, Festivus ys a tyme for familye.

But for the feeste of newe yeeres, Ich did make a resolucioun, the which Ich shal descryven unto yow within but a fewe dayes. In anothir poost. Anon.

The Aeneid and Zombyes

2010-10-25T15:52:00.015Z

Ywis, lyk unto an awkward silence duringe a date, a blogg wythout newe poostes seemeth to strecche on forevir. O gentil rederes, it payneth me soore that Ich have but litel tyme for to update thys litel blogg. For the labour of a Clerk of the Kinges Workes ys lyk unto a well-sellinge series of fantasie novels: it hath no ende, nor evir shall, for economique necessitee presseth yt into endlesse servyce.

Moost nightes, whanne Ich have back to my couch ycome, Ich kan do litel moore than cheque myn accounte on the livre de visage and listen to a fyne ballad of Siena & The Devyce, and then to bed. So gooth the lyf of a minor functionarie.

Al is wel besydes the grete bisynesse. Thomas ys wyth my Lord John of Gaunt. My Trespuissant Lord King Richard semeth to be unusuallye chill about everythinge sithen we did return from Las Vegas and he did winne back hys crown. In deed, just yesterdaye King Richard hadde Bolingbroke ovir for dinner and seyde sum thinge lyk, “It is a goode thinge that we have decyded to pardon yow completelye for the acciouns thou didst take ayeinst ower royal crown and person yn the mercilesse parlement; thynk how terribel yt wolde be if we were merelye buildinge up ower power secretely and plotting revenge upon thee!” And then he laughed ful deepe and called for wyne and spicez.

At Oxenforde, litel Lowys semeth to fare ful well. He hath founde newe freendes and ys doynge wel in his classes. He boardeth yn a smal hous yn towne yclept the Maison des Animaux, and telleth me many a storye of mirth of the aventures that he hath wyth hys freend Pluto, the whych ys a grete janglere and a goliardeys.

Whanne Ich do have sum tempus liberum, Ich have usid yt to speke wyth myn literarye coterie. Ich have had greet solaas and mirthe by joyning the conversaciouns of the Domesdaye Groupe in London, and eek have embarkid on many projectes and conversaciouns wyth Virginia Wulfstan. She and hir goode husbound are plannyng a maner scriptorium for the publisshinge of bookes, and Ich have had the gret honor of beinge consulted about their initial titles. Thei shall call thys grete enterprise the "Hrothgar Presse."

Yet Virginia Wulfstan and Ich have arryved at sumdeel of a disacordaunce. For Ich have founde a newe maner of makynge the which deliteth me wyth greet delite. In thys newe kynde of booke, the writere taketh the weightie werke of an auncient auctor of much renowne (or paraventure a well-knowene romaunce) and mixeth yt wyth whimsical tales of the supernatural. Methinketh that swich a combinacioun shal be lyk unto cat-nippe for the loveres of bookes, and shal climbe the bestsellere listes lyk Lancelot into Gueneveres roome. Ywis, paraventure thei may even selle moore copyes than The Mayde Y-Marked wyth Woad in the Shape of a Wyrm and its sequel The Mayde Who Kikked at the Apiary.

Heere ys a smal ensaumple of the maner of booke about which Ich do speake. The followinge are top-secret proposales the which we haven receivid from manye a woulde-be wryter of bookes:

*The Aeneid and Zombies: In thys sequel to the moost-loved epique of classical tymes, the howlinge soule of Turnus gooth nat to helle but rathir infecteth the manye deade left from the horribel werres that the booke doth narrate. Zombie Pallas, Zombie Mezentius on hys Zombie horse Rhaebus, and Zombie stag-of-Tyrrus-that-Ascanius-accidentallye-killede, all lumber wyth muchel gore and litel speede Aeneas-toward. Aeneas hideth wyth the men of Troye in a shoppinge mall, in which he saith to them “Peraventure oon daye yt shall do us goode to thinke upon thes tymes,” and hys men saye to hym, “Peraventure oon daye ye shal get a newe lyne.” And then thei shal maken good battel ayeinst the Zombies, bewieldinge the many wepens that are redily founde yn an anciente Etruscan shoppinge malle. Many a zombie is slayne wyth a club of golf, a baseballe bat, or a smalle terracotta figuratyve sculpture. At the ende of the greate tournement ayeinst the undeade, Aeneas sheweth his hardinesse and knighthede by backinge ovir the last of the zombyes wyth a truck, commetinge upon which deede of chivalrie he saith: “Hic sunt lacrimae rearended!”

*The Metalogicon of John of Salisbury and Mummies: Exactlie lyk the Metalogicon of John of Salisburye, but wyth mummyes the which kan summon both manye beetles and locustes. (Aftir thys booke shal peraventure come The Philobiblon of Richard de Burye and the Kynge of the Scorpiones).

*The Plaint of Nature and Piranhas: Alanus of Lille heareth the Goddesse Nature soore complayne for all gooth ageinst yts kynde and also she ys beinge attacked by piranhas. 

*The Art of Courtlye Love and Cannibalism: Thys booke featureth charminge dialogues yn which a man or woman convinceth anothir that she or he sholde love hym wyth a true and passinge gentil love. And then some oon cometh and eteth them both. Ywis, thys is a booke that shall gyve the grete Doctour C.S. Lewys sum thyng to thinke upon: talke about Ovid misunderstood!

 *The Consolation of Philosophie the Vampyre Slayer: Boece languisheth in prisone, in which he is ysealed by the Mayster. Anon, Ladye Philosophie, who knoweth nat whethir she loveth Plato or Spyke moore, cometh to save Boece. She slayeth the vampyre of worldlie vanitee, the vampyre of illusorie goodes, and the vampyre of confusioun about the coexistense of Goddes foreknowledge wyth human free will. And ther are also many zingie one-lyners.

Swich are the maner of bookes that I wolde have the Hrothgar presse printe wyth its shinye newe technologie of litel metal letteres. And yet Virginia Wulfstan insisteth that the Hrothgar presse sholde nat prynt swich thinges, but rathir sholde prynt her owene werkes of “alliterative modernisme.”

Par ensaumple, she hath a book ywrit clepped Towardes the BoneHouse, in which Byrhtnoth "The Unspellable" of Ramseye ledeth hys warriors ayeinst the cruelous and fiendliche warryors of the Viking Danes, the which have a light-house ycaptured. A grete feeste of beef playeth sum keye role, for Ich know that in oon sectioun, Byrhtnoth saith to his men, “Ower high-courage sholde growe hardere, our heartes growe keenere, and ower mood-for-fight growe mightier, the moore that we eate of boeuf en daube.”Certes, thys beth a grete booke, and yet why beth ther nat room for bookes of classiques plus zombyes?

What thinketh yow, lordinges? What pleseth yow moore, the bookes of classiques updatid humorouslye, or the booke of the battel of the lighthouse? Ye maye eek wisshe to maken mencioun of yower owene proposales for bookes of machaup in the commentes.

Until nexte we meete, ye have my gretest thankes and affecioun.

-Le Vostre

post scriptum: Ich truste that ye shal nat telle Gower of thys mattir, for he ys lyk the biggest ripper-offer yn the wyde spanne of the erthe. Oones he herd of thys, we wolde see bookes swich as Exhaustiveleye Boringe Discussiouns of Penitential Theologie in Tetrameter AND HIPPOGRIFFS.

Sum questions about Dadz blog and stuff

2010-07-01T01:34:00.004Z

Shoutouttes to alle of yow from teh Ox-2-the-Forde, wher Ich have just completed my annum primum (cum maxima spe non sit annus horribilis). Thei are fillinge me to the brim with all kindz of latin shenanigans and the partyinge heere ys out of control. I am rocking the astronomy major because it is like ten shadez of the easieste liberal art.

N-E-way, people keep mentioninge Dadz book. Not the Canterbury one, that is about as close to being written as I am to a theater where the Matins movie is playing (folkes, repeaten after the Lowys: vampirez = not cool, werewolvez = not cool), but the other one.

Some one who looketh really official is even asking questions about blogz and they mention Dadz booke. Itz like a survey. You know, if your the kynde of person who liketh taking surveys. But whatever, man. De timewastibus non disputandum.

Weird stuff, gentils and churlz.

Dad sez I can do an entry on Oxenforde soon. But I'm kind of busy with my new friend, Hal.

Out.

-Lowys

Aye, Virginia, ther ys a Robin Hood

2010-06-26T00:58:00.005Z

Gentil rederes, the feest of Kalamazu was ful of grete jolitee and wondir, and Ich was daswed by the compaignye of wondirful folk who cam to heare of the book. But the writinge of a booke doth but litel to take awey the dailye necessitees of the clerk of a kinges workes and a husband. Ywis, thogh ther be many volumes on the shelf clad in orange and blak, yet the trasshe taketh ytself nat out. Nor may a vanitee search on worldecat eliminate the need to add up the royal expenditure on the wages of masouns and gardiners. And aske ye nat about the frantic advyce that My Lord the King doth see fit to solicit yn the middel of the night concerninge hys confusioun at the operacioun of hys newe i-diptych. Maye it plese yow to pardon my lack of poostinge! So bisy with muchel labour am Ich, that many thinges of pop culture do passe me by. Ich knowe but litel of the scandal of Lady Zeugma at the recent tournament, or of the gret popularitee of the vuvuzela.

And yet ther are yet sum thinges of which I knowe a tolerable quantitee, and so whanne a smal mayde did wryte an email to my account, the spirit of Philosophie bid me answere. Ich did compose a response, the which must, by yts nature, go out upon this blogge:

Deere Mayster Chaucer,

Ich am but VIII yeeres of age. Sum of my litel freendes seyen that ther ys no Robin Hood. Ywis, thei do saye that ther is no historical record of him. My fadir sayeth that “yif ye see yt on a blog then it ys trewe.” Plese speke the treweth to me on yower blog: is ther a Robin Hood?

-Virginia

Virginia, yower litel freendes aren yn the grip of grete errour. Thei have been bismotered by the over-reliaunce on documentz of a tyme that ys excessifly concerned wyth historical record. Thei yive credence unto no thyng but yif thei see yt in a roll or chartir or heare a twentye minute talke yn a small room wyth questionez aftirwardes. Thei thynk that no thyng can be or hath been save for thos thinges that kan be compassid in their croniclez. Yet all croniclez, whedir thei be of thos folk at gret researche universitees or thos term papirs that childer do wryte, are litel. In the grete duracioun of eternitee, the tyme of man ys but that of a pissemyre, whanne comparisoun ys made bitwene yt and the lastingnesse of the worlde. For as wyse Boece saith of erthely fame: “yif thou wolde make comparisoun to the endles spaces of eternyte, what thyng hastow by whiche thou mayest rejoisen thee of long lastynge of thy name?” (LIBER II PROSA VII).

Aye, Virginia, ther ys a Robin Hood. Robin Hood existeth as seurelye as green hattes, stylishe sworde-pleye, and roguish good lookes existen, and ye know that thei abounden and yive to yower lyf yts gretest plesaunce and joie. By Seynt Loy! How grym wolde the worlde be yif ther were no Robin Hood. It would be as grim as yf there were no Virginiae. Ther wolde be no resistaunce to grasping landholderes then, no consistentlye rhyming balades, no romaunce to reade on a coold night or to pass tyme duringe the daye. We sholde have no deliteful readinge material, oonly lapidaries or yet anothir alliteratif allegorie about being very worryed about dyinge. The ever-lastinge awesomenesse of cuttinge downe a chandelier onto bumbling minions while banteringe wyth a romantic interest wolde be extinguished.

Nat believe yn Robin Hood! Ye maye as wel nat believe in King Arthur! Ye maye peticioun the kyng to hyre sheriffes to watche in all the grene-woode shawes in Engelonde to cacche Robin Hood, but thogh thei sawe nat Robin Hood, who koud then saye “quod erat demonstrandum”? No folk see Robin Hood, but that signifieth nat that ther ys no Robin Hood. The most awesome thinges yn the worlde are those that neither childer nor men kan see with eye. Did ye evir see the wonderful sciapods who lyve in the lande of Inde and have but oon foot, a limb of such greteness that thei can shade their bodyes by putting that foot above them? Of course nat, but that nys no token that thei are nat there. No folk can conceiven or hoold yn their imaginacioun all the wondirs that are unseene and invisible yn the worlde. Except John Mandeville.

Ye maye take apart an astrolabe and undirstond the natur of yts operacioun (and Ich have a smal tretis on that topique ywrit), but ther ys a maner of rough cloth that covereth the good fayre fruit of the world of fayerye, the which nat the gretest historian, nor even the joyned myghte of every historyan that ever did a footnote wryte, kan teare apart (thogh thei be mighty at arm-wrestling). Oonly whimsy, swashbucklinge, poesie, fin amor -- and, certes, shootinge an arrowe so that yt catcheth the sleeve of a hapless corrupt official -- can pusshe asyde the burlap of dailye lyf and disclose the wondirs of beautee and glorie at yts centir. Hath thys a real existence? Ywis, Virginia, in al thys worlde ther beth no thyng that ys to such an extent possessinge of existence.

No Robin Hood! Benedicte! He liveth, and he liveth for ay. Oon thousand yeeres from this daye, Virginia, nay, as many yeeres as an abacus kan count, Robin Hood will continue to make sure that discussioun of medieval governance and taxacioun ys mixed up wyth funnye nick-names and archery.

Schameless Self-Promocioun at Kalamazoo

2010-05-12T16:34:00.004Z

In the swete monethe of Maye, alle folk flocken to Kalamazoo for oon the greteste celebraciouns of scholership on the modern ages.

Thogh yet ayein my papir was rejectid from the scholerly panel to which Ich sent yt (for Ich ascrbyed a litel too muchel importaunce to myn early werkes), Ich shal to Kalamazoo-wards goon for to shewe my litel boke to the good scholers ther.

Yif ye wende to Kalamazoo, come to Valleye III Roome CCCII (302) at Sixe of the clocke on Thursdaye, on the thirteenthe of Maye (the verye daye upon which visiouns did come to Dame Julian of Norwich) to the boothe of Paul the Engraver, sonne of the Bald Man, for to see the booke. Ich do thynke that copyes shal be available for purchase. Myn owene horne groweth tyred from al thys tootinge, yet Mayster Caxton hath seyde to me "Self love, myn makere, ys nat so vyle a synne as havinge bookes remayndered."

Grendel to His Modor

2010-05-09T23:33:00.005Z

My deere rederes,

Of late, Ich have been up y-swept into the worlde of literarie celebritee. Syn that Wm. Caxton ys publisshinge my book, he hath connectid me wyth a PR ("Parchement Relaciouns") agencie, the which hath sought to place my sumwhat wyde figure in al locaciouns that may be of assistaunce in sellinge my book of blog. Philippa, for oones, hath been swept up wyth deepest delight at my writinge, and hath usid thys as an excuse to buy al maner gownes and jewelerie. She hath alredy incurred two tickets for sumptuarye lawe violaciouns.

We did make the rounde of awardes-shewes and festivals. Philippa and Ich did trede of the carpet rouge at the Aureate Spheres, the which shewe ys run by astrologers who given awardes based on the gret planetes of the skye. Ich was delited to meet the wynneres of "Leest Mercurial Career" and "Most Jovial Performance in a Revenge Tragedie" at the apres-partyes. And eek we did goon unto the Aesgars, the which are the moost notable alliteratif awardes shewe, and include categories swich as "Moost Synonyms For Warrior Used in Oon Fitt," "Longest Huntinge Scene," and "Best Use of Traditionally Polytheistic Themes in a Christian Setting."

Also, Mayster Caxton hath introducid me to othir writeres in the literarye world. Ich feele rathir sillye to be in swich company, for al Ich kan speke of is enrollinge custoumes accountez, pleying video games, and Boethius. But nevirtheless sum of the writeres are good folk who tolerate my churlishnesse and lak of hipenesse, and Ich am gretely plesid to be of their felaweshep. Ich am nowe a card-carryinge member of the "Domesday Group." Often on nightes Ich go to chat about apocalyptic spiritualitee, non-linear narratifs, and county organisacioun with Virginia Wulfstan and the E. M. the Forester.

Al of this maketh me feele lyk a Salamander out of fyre, but at leest exposure to the literarye world hath given me sum advantages. For oon ensaumple, deere rederes, Ich did mencioun that Ich wisshed to make sum poost of motheres daye for my blog and yet Ich had no thyng to seye. At which poynt, Virginia Wulfstan did russhe about wyth gret fervor and then yive me a scrap of parchemen that sche had yn the librarie of her hous. Sche was going to publisshe it herself, but sche seyde that Ich koud put it out upon my blogge.

So in reverence and honour of this daye of motheres, Ich yive unto yow, good rederes, thys smal, ancient poem of elder dayes, the which was composid by a poet named Grendel:

Deare thankes to thee Modor for derke comfortes of childhood;
The meere ever merry thogh of money we had litel.
Aye a body on our bord, whos neck thou brokest thyself,
Thogh it ment walking in wyld wynter for thee
To kill a hapless warrior unhelped by his helm.
From neighbors nasty thou didst protect me,
And other demon-childer thou donkedst on the hede
Whan thei made fun of my funkyie-lookinge fingers,
The hard hand spurs that Ic of Dad’s DNA had.
Whanne Ic waxed had VI yeeres and wanted a partye,
You hyred the huge serpents who hover yn the lake –
With their grim jaws thei gave flight to the guests
(Foolish Dane childer who, cake-lured, dyede):
With wynsome joye Ic watched that riot of razor-teeth.
No partye for a prince koud boaste swich a pettinge zoo,
Or swich fearsome pinatas that in candyes place heeld payne!
Ic would liefer lyve with thee in the layres of darkness
And step the steep borders in the silent hills
Than dwell in the dearest hall that men deck
Wyth streamers and candles on Christesmasse tyde.
Wylde Geats koud nat get me to go oon step thee-from!
Merry Modors-daye, Modor, from Grendel, thy sone.

Happye Motheres Daye to Alle,

Le Vostre
GC

Anothir short noote: calling Katherine Swinford?

2010-01-08T20:45:00.003Z

O deere suster-in-lawe of myne, Katherine de Swineford, where art thou? Emayle me at myn hottemail account (daliaunce at hotmail dot com) yf ye see this. Ich wolde have my peple talk unto yower peple concerninge sum matirs.

Anothir smal noote

2010-01-07T22:13:00.002Z

Ich kan nat wayte for this wonderful disque of musique to emerge. Loong have Ich been a "Machaut man." (Al thogh, much lyk unto Oedipus, Ich am nat too crazie about ten thousand maniackes).

Get nat too excytede

2010-01-06T17:03:00.002Z

This is but a litel updatinge. For Ich have no japes or fables to share yow-with as of nowe. Ich have but litel vim or vigor, and my corage ys all yspent. Ywis, myn eyen are ringed wyth red from long vigiles and wakinges, and many a box of pizza doth clutter the smal room yn which Ich wryte, and eek my poore brayne ys moore tired than Goweres metaphors. Long tyme nowe, Ich have been preparing a book of blog, and the labour ys al moost doon. Plese pardon, gentil rederes, my lak of postingnesse, but a smal delaye heere ys peraventure worth a solid volume the which ye kan underlyne and spille egg-salad upon and take yn to yower jacuzzi whanne the mood stryketh yow (for woe to the man who taketh his laptop yn to the jacuzzi, Ich have lerned to my gret cost on a chillye November night).

Men Who Glare at Stoats

2009-11-14T04:19:00.005Z

My deere readeres,

Yf ther ys oon thyng Ich kan counte upon, yt is that straunge and distractinge events shal bifall whenevir Ich plan to wryte on my blog. For a loong tyme, Ich was so soore y-bugged by the interrupcioun of my postinge by Quanje West that Ich thoughte nat to blog ayein.

Aftir sum soul-searchinge, Ich decyded to blog ayein, and was planning wyth muchel joie a seryes of poostes on my attemptes at going through the entyre Forme of Currye and cooking ech recepye in order. And yet, sooner than ye koude saye "grounde beenes," a newe mattir grabbed me by myn litel woolen hatte and hath taken up al my tyme. At a tavern yn Londoun on Halloween night whan Ich was drinkinge wyth Tommy Vske and Dr. Hwaet, Ich did meete a Kentishman who had lived yn Bruges and recentyle retourned, a chap by the name of Caxton.

Thys Caxton felawe hath a printinge presse, the which ys a magical machine that depriveth scryveners of their livelihood. Good Will Caxton hath toold me that yf Ich get a draft together, he may paraventure make a printinge of my blogge. So, wyth fingres deeply and constantly y-crossed, Ich have been at werke on the manuscript, revysyng and adding to the most notable poostes of yore to produce a newe and definitif versioun, wyth muchel newe mateere within yt. Ich do hope that ye gentil rederes mighte be wel plesed wyth swich a book -- that ys, if thinges do ende up wel and Caxton doth actually ende up printinge yt. Yet sikerly, Ich have learned that lyf can be unpredictable, given that whan Ich was a young boy almoost half of the populacioun of Engelond was destroyed by the Black Deeth.

Thogh drowning in ink and wel-nigh swooning wyth copying of oold wordes, Ich do fynde sum tyme for fun and amusement. Just a few dayes agoon, Ich and Philippa watched the fyne filme of Men Who Glare at Stoats, the which is a trewe storye of the divers fashions in which oure realme hath usid the secrets of magique and necromancie to arme ourselves in the longe werre ayeinst Fraunce. Thes mattirs are so importaunt and unusual that Ich thoghte Ich wolde share sum of them heere wyth yow.

Gentils and churls, scarcely will ye believe the thinges that this litel filme speketh of! Ich do but liste a fewe:

--Kyng Edward III creatid a secret inner circle of the Ordre of the Garter, for knightes who have skills in magique, wyth the motto: "Yoga soit qui mal y pense."

--This order is run by a mysterious figure known only as Le Vieux Pelerin.

--By entering a deep trance, these knightes of the Privy Order of the Garter can move their imaginacioun yn to eny place on the globe of the erthe, and thus they kan see the movements of the Frensshe, and eek, if they look harde ynogh, they kan see the verye vowels of the Englisshe tonge shiftinge.

--A syde-project of the Privy Garter ys able to make the Frensshe soldiers falle yn to wepyng and crying and lamentynge of their sinnes, and thus maketh them nat fit for deedes of armes. Thys syde project is called Knightyle Emocional Manipulacioun of Powers of the Enemye, or K.E.M.P.E.

--Wyth the mocioun of the mynde and the eyes aloon, these knightes kan stoppe the beatinge herte of an adult stoat at a range of XX feet.

--Also wyth the mocioun of the mynde and the eyes aloon, these knightes kan give the scalle under the long lokkes of eny scrybe that miscopieth a text. (Scrape that, Punkhurst!)

--These knightes have so mastered their soules and their bodyes that they kan performe all the werkes of chivalrie at once. Indeed, they kan simultaneouslie playe chesse, debate heraldic devyces, write a roundelay, exploit peasant labour, carole and daunse, jouste in a tourney, and besiege a Frensshe toune.

--These knightes of the Privy Order of the Garter have divyded themselves yn to IV "houses" in which they trayne and recruit squires. The houses aren ycleped Hippogryiffin d'Argent, Serpentyne, Hurlyburle, and Rooktalon.

--These knightes have a magical garter that determineth which squire shal goon to which hous. Yt ys called the Garter Sortant and it hath a randye sense of humour.

--Henry Bolingbroke did trye to joyne these knights of the Privy Garter, and yet he was deemed too daungerous. Yt is rumoured that he hath joyned a splintre order known only as the Sithen, the which who practise the derke syde of chivalrie (the which ys indistinguishable from the light syde).

Swich fascinatinge secretes, my frendes. Whan next Ich have sum tyme away from my labour of writinge, Ich hope to see Feudalism: A Love Story.

Thanke yow

2009-09-18T07:56:00.002Z

Thanke yow, gentil rederes, for al of youre readinges and commentez on my last poost concerninge the sparklie vampyre romaunces, of the which Ich am so very proud--

YO, I HAVE MUCHEL JOYE FOR YOWER SUCCESS, AND YE SHAL MAKE AN ENDE OF YOWER SERMONYNG, BUT BIFORE THAT DO BIFALLE, YET ICH MOOT SEYE THAT BEYONCEE HATH A BETTIR BLOGUE THAT MAKETH MOORE JAPES CONCERNYGNGE SPARKLIE VAMPYRES AND IT YS THE BEEST MIDDEL YNGLISSHE PARODIE BLOGG OF ALL TYME, OF ALL TYME, IN SECULA SECULORUM.
-QUANJE WESTE

Chaucer Sparkleth in the Sonne

2009-09-10T05:33:00.003Z

Somer ys ygoon-out, singe “ah wel” at a resonable volume.

The world is chaungid overal, and al diminisheth and groweth scarce. The economique downturne hath growne into moore of an economique downfal. My Lord Kyng Richard hath – wyth peraventure a bit too much enthusiasme – made “deep cuttes” yn spendinge on the realme. He hath reducid the system of writs to two: a writ of “brybe” and a writ of “no brybe.” And eek he hath declarid that al royal statutes shal not be copyed on to parchement and read in the town square by sheriffs but rathir proclaimed on Twittre.

This use of Twittre for broadcastinge the lawes of Engelond may save parchement and moneye, but it hath causid sum confusion bycause My Lord the Kynge knoweth not much about hys Y-Phone. Exempli gratia, here are the Statute Tweetes of August:

@fishmongers_guild lower your pryces on halibut

@laborers calme down or els

@trentreznor I love yow. leave the woman with the weirde name and be my industrial gaveston

@the_realm ignore the last tweete

@the_realm seriousli, ignore it or suffir payne of deeth for tresoun

Along wyth the economie and the lawes of the realm, it semeth that my happynesse ytself hath taken a downturne. Synce I did from Vegas-ward return, withouten my anniversarie cuff-links, my deere wyf Philippa hath removid the pleasure of her compaigyne from me. Ywis, whanevir ich seeke to speke swete thinges to her, she semeth moore offendid than Margery Kempe at a Johneson and Johneson focus group (“no moore teeres”). Whan ich do pull mynself bedwards, she dooth litel but murmur a “hullo” and continueth to rede of hir teenage sparklie vampire love storie, Vespers. Thys oon tyme, ich startid to singe unto her and she seyde,“Geoff, thou art Clemence of Barking Up the Wronge Tree.”

What to do? A fortnight ago, ich did haue sum beeres wyth Tommy Vsk and he had sum ideas.

By the waye, let not the haterez convince yow otherwyse, gentil rederes, for the Uskster liveth yet. Yt is trewe that Dr. Hwaet did replace hym wyth a Cybermonk that knewe only how to walk and recite basic liturgical formulae, the which was beheadid wyth muchel effort and sum sparkes and crackles. It took XXX blowes of the swerd to sever the Cybermonk’s metal nekke. Vsk now traveleth wyth Dr. Hwaet and hys companioun Wat Tyler thurghout a multiverse designed by a Welshman. Fantastik!

So Dr. Hwaet came by in the TOWAERDES and dropped the Usk-dogg off for a while. Usk and I were in the garage havinge sum Molson longenekkes and I toold hym of Philippa’s coldnesse. And he seyd, “If she to thee ne do no daliaunce, thou shouldest considir hanging out moore wyth thy man-freendes.” He spak muchel to me of fisshing and eek of football and eek of a restaurant yclept “Owls” in which the comely serving wenches of do dress lyke Athena and haue fayr foreheads (at leest a spanne broad). And then he gave me a book.

Aftir he leeft, Ich did reede of the book, the which is yclept, The Bromance of the Rose. It ys writen by Judd Da Poitou, and featureth a Dreamer (Seth Rojean) that enterteth the fayre garden of the lord of pleasure. Yn this garden, the Dreamer looketh depe ynto the fountain of Narcissus, and in yts cristal watirs he seeth a fayre and delicaat Rose. The Rose ys also a woman bycause this ys an allegorie and allegories are lyk that. He falleth in love.

So the Dreamer loveth the Rose, but a numbir of evil allegorical figures appeare to nip the relaciounship in the bud. Daungier, Ful Schedule, Incompatible Musique Tastes, Office Gossip, and Uninformed Gender-Based Assumpciouns al rear their allegoricallye ugly heades. The Rose rejecteth the Dreamer and thus he ys in the dogge-house (yt is an allegorie so he actuallie ys in ther wyth the dogg).

At thys poynt in the Bromance of the Rose, the Rose pretty much disappeareth. The Dreamer doth seek the advice of Freend. The Freend taketh the dreamer to hys “man cave” and ther thei playen of electrique guitars and the Freend convinceth the dreamer that the Rose ys an inadequate substitute for male companie. The Rose ys forgotten, and the two men go to “Owls” and also Vegas and playen of pool and foozball and joustinge and chevissaunce. It was lyk the average afternoon at Henri Bolingbrokes house, but wyth fewer beheadinges.

Ich did stop readinge whan the Dreamer and the Freend went to the Russhe concert. Ich take but litel joie from prog rock, and Kevin de Smyth did thys maner of thing so much bettir backe yn the dayes of Good King Edward. Ich wente up to bedde and sadlie closid my eyes, while Philippa burned our beste candles readinge of teenage sparklie vampyres. She was already on to the next oon, Compline.

Tommy Vsk, for al of hys travel thurgh tyme and space, had whiffed on the adyvce front. So ich went back to basiques and chekked out a copye of The Art of Post-Courtlye Love. Yt did suggest that “A man sholde knowe those thinges that plese hys wyf.”

The oonly thyng that semeth to plese Philippa thes dayes are thos large bookes of teenage sparklie vampyre romaunce, so ich decyded to reade oon of them.

And knowe ye what, lordinges? Yt was actuallie pretty decent.

Sure, the prose kynd of maketh Dives et Pauper look lyk George Orwelle, but the storie pulleth me yn. Yt maketh me feele lyk Ich am XVtene agayne and “Just Lyk Hevene” hath come upon the radio. Once a goth, alweys a goth (Ich am talkinge to you, Spain).

In this fyne book of sparklie vampyres, Bella Cygne moveth from Essex to Yorkshyre to lyve with her fathir, who ys a sheriff and escheator. At a scole ful of recentlie coyned stereotypes, she witnesseth the fayre skyn and fashion-sprede slow-mocioun hotenesse of the Cu Chulainn clan, the which have all eaten long ago of the magical Irisshe Salmon of Really Good Hair (oon byte of this magical salmon and ye shal have good hair for evir). Aftir Bella doth see the hottest of the clan, Edward, stop a wagon wyth hys bare handes, fight off twentie churles, and brood so much he did make Angel look lyk Mister Rogeres, she doth realise that the Cu Chulainns are vampyres. But they are good vampyres, who drinke wyne. Ther is considerablie moore sexual tensioun than in Piers Plowman.

Yt is reallie very good. Ich did reade al of Vespers, right through to Compline and ich have just startid Matins. This ys absolutelie the beste teenage sparklie vampyre love storye ich haue evir reade. And the moore wondirful thing ys that Philippa hath seen me readinge and suggestid that we visit Yorkshyre together. Yt ys amazinge how much good a well-placid “I lyk watchinge you sleepe. Ich fynde it fascinatinge” can do.

Thys is a bandwagon the which ich wolde lyke to leap upon. Ich am thinkinge that I shal add a litel sparkle to that Tales of Canterburye projecte ich have been werkinge on for several yeeres nowe. Ich am now writing the recentlye-renamed Wyf of Bathory’s Prologue.

“Experience, though noon auctorite / Were in thys world were right enough for me / To knowe not to date a werewolf...”

Righteousli off y-pissed

2009-06-20T16:25:00.003Z

Helas, myn eyne are ful of teres and wepynge for the peple of Iran who marchen yn the streetz and are faced doun by the will of schrewes and wikked men and tirauntz.

Thys putteth me in mynde of the book that comforteth me the moost, the Consolacioun of Philosophie of Boece (of which ich haue made a smal translacioun auailable for a modest pryce at Mayster Pinkhurstes shoppe - buy oon now and get a free copye of the Piers Plowman B-Text as wel as an attractif book-candel for redinge aftir derke yn fireproof areas).

In this fayre and wyse book of the Consolacioun, Lady Philosophie speketh to Boece the writer, who ys put in prison by evil men. Lady Philosophie telleth Boece that the evil haue nat the victorie no mattir how grete their power and prosperitee, and the good haue the victorie no mattir how grete their suffering:

"Thow most nedes knowen that good folk ben alwey strong and myghti, and the schrewes ben feeble and desert and naked of alle strengthes. And of thise thinges, certes, everich of hem is declared and schewed by other. For as good and yvel ben two contraries, yif so be that good be stedfast, thanne scheweth the feblesse of yvel al openly; and yif thou knowe clearly the fraileness of yvel, the stedfastnesse of good is knowen." (Liber Quartus Prosa II)

Nickel and groted

2009-06-15T00:36:00.004Z

My gentil rederes,

Ich haue had but litel tyme for poosts of blog syn ich have come home. For home ys where the herte ys, and also where the time-consuming family mattirs lie in wait.

Philippa hath been mightily y-freaked at me for the tyme that ich spent in Vegas. And alas, ich haue lerned that fals is the man who seyd that al thing that happeth in Vegas doth remayne in Vegas - rathir, thos thynges that hap in Vegas aren revisited seven-fold upon eny sely man who thinketh to kepe them undir cover. Ich speke nat of harlotrie, for ich nam nat lyk that, but let me telle yow ich haue nat the goold cuffe-linkes the which Philippa did yeve unto me for ower last anniversarie. Let us just saye that the table of poker knoweth wher thei might be. Methinketh the redy applicacioun of some diamondes and a trip to Fiji wolde remedye the situacioun, but my finances are so bleak that ich wolde rather read The Mayor of Casterbridge than look into my chekke-book.

Litel Lowys groweth moore un-litel everich daye, and now - by Saynt Abelardes misfortune! - he prepareth for the course of universitee. This somer he hath an internship y-taken, and in the fall he shall enter Oxenforde as a geologie major. "But wherefore geologie, my swete son?" ich askid hym. And he seyde to me, "No astrolabes." Every daie he petioneth me for money for clothes, bookes, swete herbes to applyen to his shouldres and nekke, and licorice and cetewale to chewe for to sweeten hys breathe. I do suspecte that amor hath kikked my sone in the shins at the same tyme that college hath hym by the nekke-bone, and temperance cometh nat to hys aid in the tag-team. Yet swich is my love for hym that ich fayne wolde yeve hym al that he wolde aske, but my finances are so bleak that Ich wolde rather joyne the Guild of Zero-Cokereres in Venezuela than look into my chekke-book.

And al of this procedeth from the economic downturn y-causid by the brief rule of the Lords Appellant,
who hath got everything at VIs and VIIs. My job descripcioun hath chaungid. Biforn whan ich was the clerke of the kinges werkes, ich did sum light administracioun of building projectes and got to travel (bandits notwithstondinge). And yet now ther ys no money to paye eny crafter or artisan, and King Richard hath been zealous with the lay-offes. So ich have had to make up for the bad economie by also bicoming an amateur mason, carpenter, plumbre, tiler, dyer, weaver, and eyebrow-plucker (ask nat about the last oon). Many yeeres yn the custoumes hous made me nat a jakke of all trades, and ich haue no idea how to redesign Westminster halle. To yow, the Economie, and to noon other wight complayne I, for ye been so swyved! Ther is sum talk of outsourcing minting to the gold-digginge ants of Ceylon, thogh the commons of parliament may oppose yt.

Ich praye that yow fare better than I. Until next tyme I remayne

Le Vostre
GC

Exhaustid

2009-05-10T20:36:00.003Z

The feeste of Kalamazu wyth its revel and jolitee did make Las Vegas look lyk an anchorhold on the moon on a sunday. Kyng Richard ys still slepyng and hath commanded me to fecchen hym sum gatorade. Me repenteth soorely the muchel drynkyge and litel sleepinge. And eek myn dauncing at the gret revel on Saturdaye was a litel iffy. So jocound ich was that ich did the slyde electrique and now feel sumdeel embarassid. Philippa shal nevir let me lyve it doun. Myn litel woolen hat was nigh lost. O the wondirs of Kalamazu!

Ich shal wryte moore of the feeste latir, but nowe my eyen do ache. Ich am goinge to the munchye mart.

Le Vostre
GC

La!

2009-05-08T07:49:00.002Z

Kalamazu ys trewely a pavane of wondirful thinges. Ywis, the babel partye tonight was a-lit wyth paintinges wyth amusinge capciouns from folk of theorie swich as deleusse and wattari and eek Madame de Dinshawwe.

Aftir VII kir royales ich was fit to stumble a-doun. The partye plesid nat Kyng Richard, who went down-stayres to anothir restaurant and did get hymself in-fisticuffed wyth three men all by the name of Doug. Yif ther is oon thing Kyng Richard knoweth, yt is how to alienate hymself from a group of men in power.

We are nowe in the radisson wyth ice packes and frensshe fries and hope that tomorwe wil be both better and worse. Phony soit qui mal y pense.

Le Vostre

GC

Kalamazoo - The folk of BABEL

2009-05-06T16:02:00.003Z

Yf ich am typing poorly, yt ys because ich am being slammed around by a chrysler sebring convertible with poor transmissoun. Kyng Richardes drivyng buggeth me. Lyk to an allegorical statue, he hath a foot of lead. He ys totally speeding, but he insisteth that the speed limit ys in his mouth, or sometyme in his brest, and that he al oon kan alter or create lawes regarding safe drivynge practices. Absolutist tendencies and merging are an unhappy combinacioun.

The gret feeste of Kalamazoo beginneth tomorrowe. Ywis, mynself and Kynge Richard are muchel y-psyched to goon to the panels of BABEL, the which is a felaweshep of many folk who throwe a vital and innovatif partie and produce rocking and gin-soaked scholarship - or peraventure it ys the othir way around? Many are the folk of BABEL who haue spoken wel of myn blog and linkid to it, and yt is ful gentil to quit one lynk wyth anothir lynk.

Kyng Richard ys busy finishing hys papir for their panel "Getting the Medieval Studies You Want." It ys entitled "Bring 500 Cheshire Archers to a Department Meeting."

Ich shal lete yow know of the othir aventures of kalamazoo.

Le Vostre

GC

3awp!

2009-05-06T06:23:00.002Z

What a long, straunge trip yt hath been. Tyme sufficeth me nat to tellen yow of the wonderes of Las Vegas, and of the grete battes and swich that ich sawe whanne ich did dryven wyth my lord Kynge Richard from Barstow to Vegas-ward, and of the serious mead collecioun that a man can get whan he sette hym out to fynde a serious mead collecioun, and of the grete feere and loathinge that did posses us.

The Lords Appellant aren all crookes and berers of false-tidinges, and Thomas Favent ys the maner of man that gooth to Blazinge Fellow and yet hath nat tyme to visit his grand-dame. The re-brandinge of my blog plesid me nat, and so ich haue taken it y-back. Fight the powere, sistren and brethren.

Ich wryte this pooste of blog from an "tavern of halydaye" in Grand Rapids in the realme of Michigan, wherat Kynge Richard and mynselfe haue ordrid "Step Brethren" on the "on demaunde." A-morwe, we get back yn to the car and dryve to that place of which Sir John Maundeville whilom descrived yn this blog:

Kalamazoo.

A NEW ORDER: IF IT AINT BOLIN'BROKE #1

2008-09-12T06:46:00.003Z

GEOFFREY CHAUCER (TM) HATH AN EXTREME BLOG: GO ENGLAND! IT YS RAD! - FEATURED CONTENT (contrib. by H. Bolingbroke)

Bakers and Bakesteres, Hippers and Hipsteres,

For yower owene sake, plese enjoie a speciale contribucioun from oon of ower sponsours and my moost gret patroun, the which I do poost heere. In the meen while, I seek a salve for myn heed.

-Tho. Favent

IF IT AINT BOLIN'BROKE

a most noble and wikked auuesome column by Henry “S-Collar” Bolingbroke,

WASSSSSSSSSSUP Churlez? Hypermasculinized loue to ech and everie oon of yow! ‘Tis I, Henri Bolingbroke, coming right at yow. This is my column of awesome content on this blog.

You see, the othir Lords Appellant want to make sure that we connect with yow, the peple. Thinges haue been getting a litel shakie. Sure, everichone did loue us whan we seyde that we wolde correct the realme, but now the fikkle and untrewe peple do complayne that we misappropriate revenues and care moore for ower vainglorie than for Engelonde. Which is lyk a total load of cow-wasshe, for all of ower expenses aren necessarie. The obstacle course in my bakke-yard is crucial for militarie planninge. (Thos Frensshe citie walles are nat going to scale themselues.) The fact that yt also maketh an awesome paint-balle course is biyond the poynt. But lo swich moanes and lamentynge ye the peple do make. It peyneth me soore, I kan tell you. Heavy is the head that weareth the awesome.

So Tommy ”The Swan” and Dick “Mauvais Cheval" askid me to wryte a blogge to connect wyth yow, the peple, and especiallie the younger voteres who reden of thes blogges and do worshippe at the parrisshe of St. Cory. And eek the othir lordes thoughte that my experience crusadinge ayeinst the paganes in Prusse wolde make me appealinge. I am a CRUSADE HERO, people. CRUSADE HERO. That just soundeth so good whan my scrybe types it out.

So as ye kan see, this is just a litel space for me to kynd of unwind about the day. And I unwind lyk a snake, baby, full of venom and anecdotes. Whan I askid Thomas Favent yf I could have a column on the blog he made a trewely good argument about focus and needing the proper talent and nat being sure if I had the experience to get the pacing right, and thanne I made a trewely good argument about me ceasinge from hitting hym on the head wyth a mace. BAMBAMBAM CRACK!

Peple, man. Everyichon hath an opinoun, ye know? I am going to yive yow sum of myne heere, and if ye agree nat, wel, peraventure I will imprisoun yow for monethes. HA. JUST JESTINGE. (OR MAYBE NAT?)

I saw Roland, Ganelon, Saragossa last week-end. I haue nat liked the othir filmes by Wido Alanus but this oon was prettie good. I wisshe ther had been moore three-way battle scenes. I am eek prettie y-psychede about Quantum of Solace even thogh it soundeth lyk the name of a papal bull.

Oh, and about the “S-Collar” thing, myn nik-name? The world hath been askinge. Yt standeth nat nat for “scoler.” I did nat do verye well in school. In fact, had nat Dame Plagiarism been at hand, Sir Graduacioun nevir wolde haue arryved, for the Sistren de Keg were alwey in my chambre. But swich is the lyf. Ye need nat to knowe of lettrure and clerklie thinges whan ye be a CRUSADE HERO.

No, I am ylcept "S-Collar" by cause of my awesome neckwear, the which is all made out of S linkid togedir. Many folk asken: what doth the “s” stand for? It standeth for: stronge sexie superior seigneur standinge ovir yower sorrie ass as ye sobbe for yower lyf. SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

I haue been keepinge up my trayninge for the Supreme Joustinge Championship. I am werkinge out III or IV houres a daye and hitting the listes as much as I kan. I am born to kick asse and take names, except I am a slow writer and thus the number of asses kikked do exceed names taken. Swich is the life. CRUSADE HERO, cherles.

This fat weeird guy keepeth hanging out with little Hal. I am a litel worried about this but my wife Mary sayd whatevir. ‘Tis nat lyk the kid will ever be kyng any day (unless I depose Richard). HA. JUST JESTINGE. TO SAY AS MUCH WOLDE BE TREASOUN! (OR MAYBE NAT?)

My wyf just got her forehead done. That thing is so effing big now. It is lyk almost a spanne brood. HOTT! Whan I marryed her she was named Mary de Bohun and if ye know what I mean I haue been thinking about doinge a litel Bohuninge tonight. SMACK! CRUSADE HERO!

Ye knowe, I had VI minstrels when I fought the pagans at the Siege of Vilnius and thei still koud nat keep up wyth a real-tyme song about how much ass I was kikkinge. I bring the legendarye mode. I am the legendarye mode.

Let us see. What else? O, stop yower bullmerde about Chaucer and Kyng Richard. Kyng Richard will retourne whan it is good for the realm. I and the othir lords appellant are loial to the Crown of Engelonde and the Kyng who beareth yt. I haue no intencioun to evir taak the crown from Richard. I haue too much CRUSADING to do first. That stuff is moore awesome than watching “faces of death" while simultaneously receivinge a high-fyve at a combinacioun Farthingbakke/III Doores Down showe. SMACK! BAM!

Okay, this hath made me thynk about Engelonde and kikking asse. I am getting some squirez and goynge to the bakke-yard to play peynt-balle. I will have Thomas put this onlyne.

I hope yow enjoy this. Or else ye shal perssihe (J/K LOL ROFL)

-Henry “S-Collar” Bolingbroke

A NEW ORDER: HOT NEWES ON BLAZINGE FELLOW

2008-08-26T05:28:00.004Z

GEOFFREY CHAUCER (TM) HATH AN EXTREME BLOG: GO ENGLAND! IT YS RAD! - FEATURED CONTENT (contrib. by Tho. Favent)

Watbethup, homeskilletes? Yt is I, Thomas Favent, the lovelokest bloke on the blokke, bringinge yow hot and up to date content that shal provyde extra value in yower fast-paced web II.0 lyves. Ich am certayn that many of the rederes of this hippe (and loial) blog are the kynde of folk who wolde come from every shires ende unto the festival of Blazinge Fellow. Talk about hot - this oon ys a scorcher.

Blazinge Fellowe doth take place in the moneth of August, begynning on the feest of the moost Blessid Bartholomewe the Apostel and rokking on for several dayes until its awesome and radical conclusion: the applicacioun of flaymes to the Fellow. At first celebrated by a gatheringe of hip and hard-lyne bishops led by Henri “Defensor” Despenser of Norwich, Blazinge Fellowe hath nowe grown into a gret gatheringe that attracteth Ms and Ms of participants.

What is Blazinge Fellow?

In the dayes of the celebracioun of Blazinge Fellow, many peple come togedir to express their joye and devocioun to the institutional Church and the law-makinge State in fantastic maner. Thei weare costumes from beyond yower imaginacioun. Forget friares in brown robes or blakke robes – haue ye gentils evir seen ORANGE ROBES? PAISLEYE? Yower mynde will be blown. And the throngs! Sondry folk, clerkes, bishopes, fanatic laypeple, summoners, deacons, cellarers, abbots, venture capitalists, and novyces all gather in a gret hoost to make art and to set fyre to the Fellow. Thes “Blazeres” consume gret quantitees of wyne both white and red and do sniff of balm and yet staye within the boundes of temperance, for it ys all done wyth the approval of the Archbishop.

Where is Blazinge Fellow held?

Blazinge Fellow is held in Smithfield or, as yclept by Blazeres, "The Feeld.” The wethir on the Feeld oft presenteth gret discomfort and inconvenience to Blazeres, as yt can be slightli humid and also rayne and eek hayle are nat unheard of. When stayinge in the feeld, yt is best to bring an umbrella and a smal tent, thogh many folke develop elaborate paviliouns the which do surpass the beautee of the pavilions of Sarrasens and even Fayerye ytself, and yet staye within the boundes of humilitee, for it ys all done wyth the approval of the Archbishop.

What kinds of Public Art are There?

Draconian enforsment of orthodoxie is nothing without sum interestinge public art. Blazeres organise yeerly into “theme cloisters” to yive beautee unto the Feeld and to distribute beverages and balm. Each theme cloister is devoted to a different aspect of ower deep and orthodox devocioun to the Institutional Church. Sum theme cloisters celebrate the virtues: Chastitee Cloister yiveth awaye beltes and saltpetre, Prudence Cloister enacteth the tale of Melibee and hys neighbores (“hey kids, get off my lawn or ich shall slaye yow"), et cetera. Othir cloisters are full of gret wonderes and mystiques. Ich once stayid in a stylite cloister. It was tops. Ther ys also a cloister of miraculous women from Flanders who kan survyve in ovens. This yeer ich heare thei shall be bringinge microwaues. Astonishing! And yet yif ye asken me, sum of the art ys a litel wack. Ther aren large sculptures the which look lyke giant hollow stone chicken men on legges made out of trumpetes and filled wyth smal birdes playing the harpe. What maner of bosh ys that?

Do people get naked?

Ywis, sum tyme ther ys nakedness and bodye-payntynge, and yet it ledeth nat to the synne of lecherie for the bodye payntynge is moostly pictorial narratifs of the punishementes of purgatorie (and yit sum still falle into errour and sinnes of the flesshe, the which is lamentable but pardonable).

Where can I buy a Pardon?

Pardones are soold at several posiciouns around the feeld. Yf ye aren anticipatinge a particularlie elaborate synne, ye must consult the central pardon offyce.

Where can I find a Physician?

Synce all of the uryne of Blazeres ys a uniform color (cleere), physiciens may nat make diagnoses and thus often humoral imbalance goth undetected at Blazinge Fellowe. Be sure to consult early on wyth yower owen physicien or at leest a learned local vicar yif ye haue a tendencie towardes humoral imbalance and are planninge to attende Blazinge Fellowe.

When is the Fellow Emblazed?

The Fellow ys emblazed on the final night of the celebracioun, aftir a lengthi heresie trial. The stake ys set up in the middle of the feeld, neere the usual spot for execucions. Yf the Fellow recantes of hys heresie, sum tyme he ys yiven a repreve and ther is no emblazinge. Yet feere nat, for yf the Fellowe recantes, a prisoner from Newe-gate ys emblazed in his sted. And yet thei nevir blaze as brighli as do the heretickes, the which aren full of the sparkes of sin and rebellioun.

What is the meaning of the Fellow?

The fellow to us doth represent on the allegorical level all of the dirt and faultes that we wolde wasshen from owerselves. The emblazinge of the fellowe ys a commitment to directinge owerselves wyth more passioun and more institutional support to being the best folk we can be. Yt is an act for stablisshinge pure feyth in good government, good religioun, and good use of ower leisure tyme.

On the literal level the fellow doth represent a man who hath been found a heretick and is being burned and shoutynge wyth a loud voys. Sum tyme neere the end ther ys simpli quiet weepinge or angrie recriminaciouns or silent attemptes to withstanden the payne. Haue ye nat seyn sometyme a pale face? Nat until ye see the Fellow at hys last! And yet it doth staye within the boundes of charitee, for yt is all done wyth the approval of the Archbishop.

What is it like?

Ye must experience yt to yive credence that swich a thing maye exist. Imagine the best hanginge ye haue evir seen. Nowe, get out yower awesome deeth abacus and multiplye the entertaynment value of that hanginge by the power of X. That is just how good a real emblazinge kan be.

Certes, sum folk call it cruel and saye that swich thinges sholde nevir happen in Engelonde. Ich saye to them: crye me a river, moonbattes, next yeere ye shall all be Fellowes!

Flaymes, creativitee, massyve amountes of cash, moore balm than a Lombard could sniff, and the eradicacioun of an heretic: that ys felaweshep ich kan get behinde. See yow at Blazing Fellow, freendes!

-Th. F

(Thys content is approved by the Lords Appellant. In facte, Bolingbroke lykes this so much he ys makinge notes for a future statute. Impriblogtur).

A NEW ORDER: TELEVISIOUN WITHOUT MERCY

2008-08-05T07:04:00.003Z

GEOFFREY CHAUCER (TM) HATH AN EXTREME BLOG: GO ENGLAND! IT YS RAD! - FEATURED CONTENT (edited by Tho. Favent)

TELEVISION WITHOUT MERCY
Spayre the hanginge, spoyle the incipient discourse of nationalisme

What coud be hotter than televisioun? Market surveyes shewe that many folk watchen of yt. Thus, we must bend it to ower will or breke it all to pieces.

Last week the Lords Appellant in their grace and wisdam did tak control of the programminge of tv netwerkes, in order to preserue the values of Engelonde. All of yower fauorite shewes got a make-ovir. Peraventure ye haue been over-bisy wyth toyle during the week (hanging flagges, translating Anglo-Norman romances into Englisshe, spitting south-wardes), and haue nat been able to catch up on developmentes on all yower fauoryte showes of televisioun. Worry nat! Television Without Mercy provideth thes wittie and concise recaps for yower informacioun. Go Engelonde! Here ys what ye maye haue ymissed...

GOSSIP GIRL: Spotted: at the Tower of London ys Gossip Girl herself, who hath been ycaught by the diligence of Henry Bolingbroke. She ys taken to Tyburn and hanged. Ye who heare the recap of thys episode, think on what a thyng it is to be a gossip and a teller of tales. Beholdeth the rewardes of telling the pryvytees of othirs upon a blogge! Be ware, lest in yower owene blogges ye bicom jangleres and telleres of tales! Thinketh on yt and in yower myndes rekeneth how deedes haue their endes. Thus endeth the episode.

FLIGHT OF THE LOMBARDS: Thys episode openeth with the Lombard traderes Brentano and Germano yn the stokkes, for Henry Bolingbroke hath discoverid their plan to import fals currencie ycleped lusshebournes ynto Engelonde and eek corner the market on silk and sweet wynes. Brentano and Germano suffer long yn the stokkes and beg for mercy yet thei receyve yt nat. Thei beginnen to singe a roundel but Bolingbrokes men stuff their mouthes wyth cloutes and ragges. Ye who heare the recap of thys epsiode, think on what a thing it is to be a fals marchant and a foule usurer and eek a writer of humorous folk tunes. Beholdeth the rewardes of destabilising Englandes currencie! Be ware, lest in yower owene dealinges ye bicom fals traderes and usurers! Thinketh on yt and in yower myndes rekeneth how deedes haue their endes. Thus endeth the episode.

ARRESTID DEVELOPMENT: All the membirs of the de Blouth familie were yhangid for tresoun in the yeeres of Kyng Edward and thus ther beth no resoun to recap this shewe.

SCRYBES: In thys episode Adam Pinkhurste writeth every manuscript in Engelonde evir, just lyk in every othir episode.

WEEDES: Thys episode openeth wyth Nancy yn the court of Thomas Arundel, Archbishop of York, who sitteth in gret judgement along wyth Henry Bolingbroke, who hath captured Nancy. Thes two gret lordes, oon of the church and oon of the lande, ask Nancy why she doth spreade the heretical writinges of the lollardes and thus doth sowe weedes in our cleane corn. For the teachinges of heretics are lyk weedes, the which strangle the good croppes. Ye who heare the recap of thys episode, thynk of how gret a sin it ys to befoule the feeldes of feyth and loialtee wyth the weedes of heresie and conspiracie! Thynk howe thes weedes of sin do dull the mynde and ynspyre the eatinge of the fatteninge twinkies of rebellion and the fingre-stayninge cheetoes of misfortune! Thus endeth the episode.

SO YE THINKE YE KAN DAUNCEN?: Thys episode openeth wyth all of the contestants in front of special guest judge Henry Bolingbroke. Oon by oon, he asketh each if he or she kan daunce. Yf he or she kan nat, ther ys a hanging. Ye who heare the recap of thys epsiode, think on whether ye kan dauncen, and what ye wolde saye yn front of nat only an earthli judge, but eek the high Judge himself upon hys throne at the final daunce. KAN YE DAUNCE? KAN YE? ANSWIR WEL OR THOU SHALT DAUNCE IN FLAYMES. Thus endeth the episode.

Next week on televisoun: XXIV houres a daye of footage of the battel of Cressy. Go Engelonde!

(Thys content is approved by the Lords Appellant. Impriblogtur).

A NEW ORDER: A WORD FROM YOWER EDITOR

2008-08-05T06:41:00.004Z

by THOMAS FAVENT

Benedicite, loial rederes and loveres of the realm of Engelonde. Tis I, Thomas Favent, new editor of thys extreme blog, the which bringeth yow hot new content about every thing and eny thing that is approved by the Lords Appellant, rightful managers of the realm of Engelonde. Ich am just chillinge in my awesome apartment and listeninge to sum tunes (latest Favent fave: Werewolf Fortnight -- chekke out the track "Oxford Nominalism").

Yt semeth a fewe thinges are nat sinkinge in: no, John Gower is in no way affiliated wyth thys blog. As hath been made cleare as daye, this blog is y-owned and y-sponsored by the Lords Appellant and y-edited by yoweres trulie. TEN KINDES OF NO TO THE GOWER RUMORS, people.

And on toppe of that: rederes, plese cease yower tresonous clamour and slandirs. Yt ys yower duetee to God and to Engelonde to loue thys blog. Desist from yower cries for the return of Chaucer, for swich a thyng shall nat happen eny tyme soon. As ich haue explained, the blogge is oweres and Chaucer ys in a place from which he shal nevir return (Las Vegas, likely a buffet). The following persons haue y-maad tresonous commentes and shal be taken in: Kem, Nightsky, Bobbie, Michael, Allie, and Mr. Farty. And while Ich am at it: Anonyme, the "y" is optional.

Finallye: plese, ich praye yow in the name of Seynt Lohan, a litel less tresoun and a litel more apprecioun? Pretty plese? My bosses aren kynde of “resultes-oriented," and ich haue nevir been crazie about the view from the top of a poost on London bridge. Just shewe a litel loue for poor Thomas Favent who hath peraventure seyde sum thinge to Bolingbroke to the effect of "yif I wryte nat an awesome blog, ich wol yeve yow myn heed." TE HEE. TE HEE HEE HEE. TE HEE, ergh.

Okaye, tyme for yower update. We are poosting it soon, wyth the ayde of the hottest scrybes.

A NEW ORDER, by the Lords Appellant and Tho. Favent

2008-07-24T02:32:00.007Z

WELCOME TO THE INNOVATYF RE-BRANDINGE OF

GEOFFREY CHAUCER HATH AN EXTREME BLOG: GO ENGLAND! IT YS RAD!

PRESENTID BY THE LORDS APPELLANT:
Thomas “The Swan” of Woodstock, Earl of Buckingham and Duk of Gloucester
Richard “Horsie” FitzAlan, Earl of Arundel
Thomas “Yogi” Beauchamp, Earl of Warwick
Henry “S-Collar” Bolingbroke, Earl of Derby
Tommy “Featherweight” Mowbray, Earl of Nottingham

YWRITTEN BY A GLOBAL TEAME OF CREATIFS AND TRENDSETTIRS ASSEMBLID IN FELAWESHEP WYTH MUCH COFFEE

YEDITED BY:
Thomas “Favor Fave” Favent (formerlie director of chihuahua trakkinge and parliamentarie gossip for GAUCHER Media)

INTRODUCCION BY THE LORDS APPELLANT

Welcome, gentils and churles alike. We haue looked at youre emailes thurgh our constant secret monitoringe of communicaciouns, and we haue wisely and graciously seen that the whole globe of the erthe doth lament the lakke of posting on the blogg of a certayn Galfridus Chaucer, formerlie of the customes hous and until recentlie clerke of the kinges workes, and synce June an absent fathir, distractid soule, companion to a wandering king, and balm-addled layabout. Well, the longe tyme of yower waiting is ovir, for heere ys the new GEOFFREY CHAUCER HATH AN EXTREME BLOG: GO ENGLAND! IT YS RAD!.

Ywis, we Lords Appellant haue re-branded and re-concepted thys blog. We haue replaced Chaucer wyth a top team of new media specialistes. This is nowe a blog that ys dedicated to bringing yow the hottest and moost up to date content about the worldes of entertaynment, political societee, hangings, filmes, culture, quarterings, and defense of the of the noble realme of Engelonde. Prepare to be virtuallye beaten ovir the head and neck by the sheere force of the hot and up to date content ye shall see on this blog. Ther shal be verye funnye thinges. The thinges ye shall see shal be so funnye they shall maken yow to “laughen out loude” (LOL). Ther shal also be much newes of Engelonde and ower gret effortes to kepe yt safe from the foul Frensshe folk, who seeke even now to destroye ower language and ower large estates. Nevir bifor did loue of the realm of Engelonde and hot and up to date content come togedir in a productif and profitable webbe-two-point-o fusion-synthesis as they do nowe in GEOFFREY CHAUCER HATH AN EXTREME BLOG: GO ENGLAND! IT YS RAD!.

We requeste that all ye folk who reden of this blogg do signe the loialtiee oath in the commentz to assuren us that ye aren nat Frensshe spyes or folk who wolde overturn the gret proceedings of the moost recent Parliament. Yf ye signe nat the loailte oath we shall come to yower hous wyth our retinues of armid men and we shal show yow the latest hot and up to date content in opinioun-chaunging. (SEE END OF POOST FOR OATH)

Go England! Trust us!
-Tom, Dick, Tom, Harry, Tom

And nowe a woord from yower newe editor, Thomas Favent.

THE EDITOR ANSWERETH YOWER QUERIES

How hangeth it, ladyes and lordes? This is nat Geoffrey Chaucer. Geoffrey Chaucer ys chubtastick and hath a smal woolen hat the which was cool back when round tables seemid lyk a fresshe idea. Chaucer, my darlinges, hath left the building. Ich am Thomas Favent and let me telle yow ich am a lot thinner and a whole lot moore fun at large outdoor summer-tyme festivals. Ich am so totallie ypsyched to be runninge this syte and providinge yow wyth the hottest and moost up to date content concerninge the mattirs aforemencioned by the lords appellant in their grace and wisdam.

Nowe, ich imagine ye are going “what the swyve?” (WTS?) right nowe, by cause that thinges aren a littel different around heere than what ye haue seen bifor. Wel, ich am heere to telle yow that chaunge is good. Sum peple think of chaunge as the werkinge of a capricious fortune upon the blisful stabilitie of lyf, but ich prefer to think of chaunge as the force that kicketh boring people off of the island. All webbes must be blown by the winde so that the spider maye re-cast them, and thus yt is wyth thys websyte, blown by the wind of clene and pure chaunge into the newe and awesome shape yt taketh bifor yower eyes.

So that ich maye yive sum response to yower questions about the gret chaunges of this blog, ich haue arrangid a liste of questions that haue come thurgh email, the which ich shall answir in order. Suspend yower wondir, rederes, and all factes concerninge this blog and the recent lakke of postinges shal bicom clere thurgh my crystalline prose.

1. Where the hell is Geoffrey Chaucer?

Geoffrey Chaucer hath been verye busy ovir the past monethes assistinge King Richard wyth King Richard’s rehabilitacioun. King Richard hath been in a bit of a funke (see below answeres). Currentlie, Geoffrey Chaucer ys with King Richard in Las Vegas. The two of them left in June, after a period of gret distraccion.

The kinge and Chaucer did saye thei wolde journeye to Vegas to fynde sum abstract notion or anothir. The paparazzi do saye that bifor he left, Chaucer waxid poetic about a maner of quest involving drivinge to Las Vegas and drinking much wyne and the inhaling of gret quantitees of aromatic balm in order to fynde “The Idea of the Vernacular.”

2. Why is almost everyone involved with this named Thomas?

Go to Canterburye and light yowerself a clue candle, doctor of theologie.

3. What has been happening in the last couple months? It’s something to do with parliament, right?

Ye are correct. Yn Februarie, the Lords Appellant (listed above in their grace and wisdam) did bring the concernes of alle the peple of the realme to parliament. They did saye that the counsellors and men who surroundid King Richard were corrupt and rotten and thes evil counsellors did hate the realme of Engelonde. Thes evil counsellors did kepe King Richard from thinkinge of the safetie of the realm, so much so that he thoughte to make peace wyth the foul Frenssh. He also spent a lot of moneye on thinges lyk giant water parkes wyth ancient mythologicale themes (q. v. "Styx Flags") and did depryve the gret nobles of the realme of their annuitees.

But the realme neded nat to suffir until it dwindled and bicam prey to the foule Frensshe. Nay! Sum of the gretest nobles of the realme did heere the people complaining of the woes of the realme, and thei rose up to challenge the vicious scum who did surround our King Richard. Thes gret nobles and saviors of the polity do call themselves the Lords Appellant (because thei are so appeallinge). The Lords Appellant usid the rightful and proper force of parliament to put the fals counsellors of King Richard on tryall for tresoun and to bring gret peace and order to the realm by deelinge wyth them.

Best. Parliament. Evir!

Consideringe all the deelinge that had to be done, the parliament did laste for many monethe, and Geoffrey was kept bisy making thinges for the kinge (includinge a fortified bunker the which was nat fortified quite ynough). This parliament went off and on until June 3rd, upon which daye Geoffrey and Richard spent much tyme driving around London collectinge supplyes in a rentid car and then drove off and haue nat been yherd from since.

3. Who were these counsellors?

The foulest of the dangeres to the realm were Nicholas Brember Mayor of London, Alexander Neville fals Bisshop of York, Robert de Vere supposid Duk of Ireland (and kynd of too close wyth the kyng), Michael de la Pole supposid Earl of Suffolk, Robert Tresilian once Chief Justice. Yet their were many othir folk, swich as the knights Berners, Burley, Salisbury and Beauchamp and also the small folk Thomas Usk and John Blake. The lords appellant in their grace and wisdam exiled or executid moost of them.

4. Executed?

Ye kan nat make an omelet wythout hanging and drawing and quartering a few egges.

But wait, I heard a rumor that Thomas Usk didn’t actually die, but instead was saved at the last minute by Dr. Hwaet and his beloved companion Wat Tyler? They replaced Usk with a robot that looked like a person but could really only walk and recite basic liturgical formulae.

When the lordes appellant fynde the source of the crakke ye are smokinge, in their grace and widsdam thei shall destroye it to make safe the healthe of the nacioun and to quell swich fables and ficcions. Dr. Hwaet is a ficcion. Even yf he did exist, the idea of a totallye ancient alien with an accent from Norwich ys ridiculous.

5. Lots of planets have a Norwich.

BE SILENT or the lords appellant yn their grace and wisdam shall knokke yow the helle about the head. Next question, peple.

7. Hey, also: Why was Annie Lennox singing in the palace when Richard said goodbye to De Vere?

Ynogh of the rumores. Wheniver ther ys political activitee the chronicleres just start blabbing about eny thing. Wheels of fyre. Talkinge wax hedes. The Thames dryinge up. Alienes from Norwich wyth burial mounds bigger on the insyde than on the outsyde. Pop icons singinge "Everytime We Say Goodbye." Seriouslie people, hyre a serjeant at law and get yowerselves a clue in fee simple! Thes chronicleres are all basicallie writinge Gerald of Wales fan ficcion inspyred by badly-kept monastic cheese. No more queries about unusual events surroundinge the parliament.

8. Okay, fine. So the parliament happened and Chaucer went away to Vegas after a hard time. Why are you running his blog?

The lords appellant in their grace and wisdam are verye interested in media saturacioun. Thei aren aware that at oon tyme many folk did rede of this blog and fynde joye in it, so nowe thei seek to fynde thos peple and provyde them wyth hot and up to date content and also newes of the defense of the realme of Engelonde ayeinst the foule evil of the Frensshe.

7. But it’s not your/their blog?

Accordinge to propertie lawes written in the tyme of the kinges great grandfather and far too complex for ye to undirstonden, the blog did revert to the kynge when Geoffrey Chaucer entered a gazebo in May wythout a hat, and then thurgh a certayne arrangement of inheritance decreed by an ad hoc committee of judges the rights de escriture for the blog did fall to the second cousin of the Duke of Gloucester, the which cousin upon halberd-poynte did gladlie relinquish hys ownership of the blog and thus the blog fell ynto the hands of the Lords Appellant, who haue arrangid it all nyce and hyred a teame of writeres and we haue a studio wyth bean bag chayres and chartes concerninge which animal image will make folk buye which Shakira album. And so it is as clere as ys the sumer sun: the blog ys oures.

8. How did you get his password?

Yt was taped undir Geoffrey’s desk.

9. You searched his house? Wait. Did you people do anything to his family?

Ther ys no need to worrye, thei are all fyne. Bifor Geoffrey and King Richard left for Las Vegas, King Richard did leave gret summes for to keep the meynee at Geoffreyes hous. Litel Lowys ys doing a summer internship and preparing for universitee in the fall. Philippa ys fixinge up the garden hous and doing pilates. And Thomas as always ys wyth John of Gaunt, Kinge of Spayne, handling thinges on the continent.

10. What do you think about the fact that the first-ever international conference on John Gower just took place?

We heere at Geoffrey Chaucer Hath an Extreme Blog: Go England! It Ys Rad! do support and love that Gower conference wyth all our hertes. John Gower hath alweys been a fervent supporter of whoevir is in power. We do nat undirstond why Chaucer hath swich a bugge yn his butte. Peraventure yf Geoffrey sholde evir come back from Las Vegas we maye let hym poost hys owene reacciouns to the conference. But that day may nevir come.

11. Will all the old posts stay up? Indefinitely?

Of course thei shall. What maniacal and sadistic power do ye thinke doth control this blog? Joss Whedon?

Okaye, that ys ynogh questions for todaye. Look forward to exciting newe pro-England content in the dayes to come on Geoffrey Chaucer Hath An Extreme Blog: Go England! It Ys Rad!

-

THE EXTREMELY AWESOME LOIALTEE OATH

Pplease put yower name yn the followinge loyaltee oath and poost it as a comment or else we will disinherit yower male heirs in perpetuity. All commentes shal be screened to prevent treason and Frensshe spyes.

I ____________ do affirm the actes and decrees of the parliament of this yeere and do agree that it was right to reform the ill governement of ower King Richard in order to bring peace and justise to the realm and nevir shall I speke against the Lords Appellant at eny tyme yn the future. I do abhor and reject the ridiculous rumor that Thomas Usk was saved by Dr. Hwaet bifor beinge executed. I do swere to return to thys blog and enjoy its hot and up to date content. And I do sweare, no mattir what lord I folowe or in what lande I dwell, nevir to betray the realme of Engelonde to the foul Frensshe. Signed this ____ daye of ______ ; also, yt ys my trewe opinion that the hottest and moost up to date content these days includes the topics _________, __________, and __________, all of the which ich wolde rede wyth gret gladnesse and joye and loialtee to Engelonde.

Whan that Aprille Week

2008-04-01T06:39:00.003Z

A verie joyous "Whan that Aprille Week" to all of yow, my rederes, from yower forwaked and fortravailled blogger. Ich haue been y-laboring for National Adaptacioun of Guido della Colonna's Historia Destructionis Troiae Moneth (NaAdGuiCollHistDestTroMo) and ich am proud to saye that ich haue y-carved an entyre boke of the double wo of Troylus and Criseyde from the raw matter of the historiale accountes. It hath ben a good way to kepe from thinkinge upon the gret wo and distourbance that hath risen up yn parlement.

In the maner of poostes from two yeeres now, ich do aske yow to use thys fyne daye of Aprille to reden of my werkes. Ich do copye myn owene letter patent from bifor:

...ich praye yow permitten me oon smal moment of sentimente.

On this week cometh the first 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 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!

Lament for Sir William

2008-02-22T07:46:00.002Z

My gentil rederes, yif it be nat oon thynge, it is an oothir. For a while, ich was bisy with werke building an "fortified compound" for Kynge Richard. It semeth parliament was merciles this yeere. That did ete up much of my tyme ovir the seson of Yule.

And now of late, ich haue been soore depressid to heere of the deeth of myn freend Sir William, yclept Ulrich of Liechtenstein for a certayn tyme, with whom ich did travel in Fraunce about XXXX poundes ago. Ich haue sat in my room going thurgh oold joustinge programes and thinkinge of thos jours d'alcyone.

Thogh my pen is but a sely thing, bettir fit for ditees and smal jokes and puns, yet ich koud nat but trye to write sum few lynes of rym for the memorie of my good freend, the which ich share heere. Ich knowe that newes of his deeth hath long ben known, and many wyse folk have seyd thinges of hym, yet tak this rym-doggerel for my part.

A COMPLEYNTE ON THE DETH OF SIR WILLIAM THATCHER, SUMTYME YCLEPED ULRICH VON LIECHTENSTEIN

Yif al the woe and teeres and hevinesse
And eek the sorwe, compleynte and wamentynge
That man hath heard in thes yeeres of distresse
Togedir were y-put, too light a thynge
It sholde be for this yonge knightes mournynge.
Withouten hym this world can no wey plese,
Fulfild it is of shadwe and disese.

In sorwe and teeres and eek in hevinesse
Stand Roland, Wat, and Kate, his compaigyne,
(And eek mynself, the forger of noblesse):
Sir Deeth wyth falshede and wyth sorcerye
Hath slayn thys knight who never feered to dye,
Of honor nat of lyf took Ulrich kepe.
A see of teeres nys nat ynogh to wepe.

Proud Deth, yower trophie is our hevinesse,
Your heraud may ful loude yel and crie,
For thou hast slayn the flour of hardinesse:
Sir Ulrich knewe the herte of chivalrie
And evir daunce he coud to melodye;
A silent yere he spent oones in a toun
In Itaylye to understonde a roun.

This feble world fulfild of hevinesse
Offreth us nat but wo, o welaway!
No thyng it hath may us give restfulnesse
For yisterday was noblere and moore gay
Than thys clipt peni that we hold today.
On Ulrich spende yower XII last silver teeres
Syn now departid aren hys golden yeeres.

He chaungid hys sterres, ros out of lowlinesse,
Bicam the man that fyrst did make me thinke
Our dedes nat our birth bring gentilesse –
And when ich was depe in the dice and drinke
He bought my pants ayein, it is no nay
May hevenes blisse repay that charité!
For blessed on erthe are al who had the chaunce
To walk the gardyn of his turbulaunce.

Chaucer the Holy-Wood Scabbe

2007-11-12T06:14:00.000Z

Yf ye wonder, lordinges and ladyes, wher Galfridus Chaucer hath been synce September, the answer is: in a verray purgatorie of busynesse. It pleseth me litel to labour as clerk of the kinges werkes, and yet labor ich muste, for Philippa forever addeth to our hous yn Kent and litel Lowys is beginning to speke of applyinge to Universitee next yeere (the whiche surpriseth me gretely – paraventure it is the ale of Oxford that lureth hym, not the bookes).

My lord Kyng Richard is a man of muchel ymaginacioun and many needes. Ich had thoghte that beinge clerk of the kinges werkes wolde involve sum smal calculaciouns of repaires to palaces and castles, or perchaunce sum litel arrangement of walls to be buylt and an odd tournament heere and there. By Seynt Barbara, not in eny way! Kyng Richard and hys fauorites Robert de Vere, Justice Tresilian, Bishop Neville, Nicholas Brembre and Michael de la Pole (the which clepen themselves the “brat packe”) alwey asken me to arrange sum project of construccion that semeth a thing of fayerye. Fountayns of red and whit wyn in Hull? Chekke. An reenactement of the battel of Hastinges wyth dogges and cattes in armour? Chekke. A monster trukke rallye the which involveth a trukke that transformeth yn to a dinosaur? Chekke. Makinge a giant elephaunt walk the stretes of Londoun? Chekke. A Carolingian Renaissance fayre? Chekke (thogh that was prety esy, for it was miniscule). Mesemeth yf thes counsellors to the kyng do not get their spendinge and extravagaunce under control, sum thyng bad myght happen.

But thys weekend my lord the Kyng and the brat packe haue gone to the Malvern hilles for sum maner of mystique ritual in which thei shal "fynde themselves." And so wyth a litel fre tyme, ich haue returnid hoom to relax and watch sum television. No thyng wolde plese me moore than to sit yn myn slothful-knave chayre wyth a caipirinha and catch up on sum muste-see tv. Or so thoghte I.

Yet allas, allas, the Lex Murphiae holdeth alwey trewe. In that gret and magique land ycleped Holy-Wood, from which cometh many a joieful showe of televisioun, the poetes and scrybes haue putte down their pennes in protest of the avarice of large corporaciouns. Al the gret tales and comedyes and shewes of talk haue y-ground to an halt and are no thyng but reruns.

Ich do thynk that the writers of Holy-Wood are goode folk and trewe and sholde continue their protest, but Philippa hath toold me that thys coud be an greet opportunitee for myn owene writinge (for alwey ich am scribling sum poem or anothir or having some idea). So ich am going ayeinst myn owene conscience to propose sum shewes of televisioun. Peraventure the mightie corporaciouns and compaignynes of produccion wil choose me to be an writere of televisioun ones see my wondirful conceptes heere on thys poost of blog. (It peyneth me soore to be an scabbe and an protest-lyne crosser, but my sone wisheth to goon to Oxford and my wyf desireth a patio. Forgive me, o ye merveillous writers of Holly-Wood: Chaucer nedeth a newe payre of shoes!)

Ich haue purchasid sun-glasses for my meetinges and ich haue practiced swich importante phrases as “Wayt for it...wayt for it...” and eek “This will blowen yower mind...” and eek “Ich wolde absolutely love to heare what revisions the sponsor hath suggestid for my script.” Myn experience at court shal serve me wel.

Heere, withouten further delaye, O Executives of Entertaynment, are myn proposales for shewes.

The Televisioun Lyne Up of Galfridus Chaucer, Clerke of the Kinges Werkes:

Sectes in the Borough: This hot and explicit showe wil handle religious dissent yn a more free and open way than evere bifor. Carrie Baxter is an underground writer of Lollard tractes in Norwich and the oonly thynge she loveth moore than questioning the validitie of the institucional church is her III best freendes: sexie Samantha, who seduceth many a preeste, intellectuale Charlotte, who speketh out ayeinst women being unable to preche, and Miranda Kempe, who receiveth visiouns from God. Thei meet every week to rede of the Bible in Ynglisshe and talke smacke about pilgrymage sites. Carrie is alwey resistinge the temptaciouns to submit to the orthodoxie of the Church, personifyed by Archbishop Thomas Arundel, whom she clepeth “Mr. Big.” (Paraventure for a cabel network, by cause main-streme audiences aren not redi for frank depicciouns of heretical practice?)

The Gower Report: Thogh Johannes Gower ys an horrible wankere, yet hys churlish maners and hys gret pryde and surquidrie aren ful amusinge to watch. Yn this showe, Johannes Gower wolde speke to the audience of hys writinges and hys gret feare of beares. He may weare hys robe of a man of lawe wyth its striped sleeves and shal stand in front of peyntures of hymself.

Flight of the Lombardes: In this syde-splittinge comedic satyre, two yonge Lombard marchauntz, named Brentano and Germano, comen to Londoun to make their fortune wyth trading and finaunce. Thei aren also makeres of songes, ditees, roundels, and ballades, the which thei singe as commentarie to their aventures in love and businesse in a mildly self-deprecatinge maner. Their gretest ballade ys cleped “Tyme of Busynesse,” and gooth sum thing like this:

”Ywis, it is tyme of Busynesse. Aw yeah.
How knowe I this, askest thou?
For yt ys Wednesday,
a day not forbidden for tradinge and bargaininge by the lawe of Holy Churche.

Yea, for al is right, condicciouns are perfect
for Busynesse,
for thou hast sheeldes thou wishest to selle in exchaunge
for merchaundise thou hast bought in Flaundres.
And ich haue soore nede of thy merchaundise.
Aw yea. And ich am yn my red hose, the which aren cleped
Busynesse hose.
Doinge exchaunge and bargainynge.
Doinge exchaunge and bargainynge for two.
Doinge exchaunge and bargainynge for two
Florins profit. For two florins profit is better
than the profit of one shilling. I schal put it on thy taille.”

Hawk the Bountie Hunter: Thys showe shal deele yn the materes of kinges and gret affayres of state, and thus shal be ycleped a roialtee showe. Ich shal arrange for many cameras of televisioun to followe the gret mercenarie Johannes Hawkwood, who hath risen from lowe birthe to serve as a puissant man at armes in Italye and hath y-weddid the fayre dogther of Bernabo Visconti.

The Privy Seel Offyce: Thys offyce of clerkes and scrybes produceth manye documentz and eek muchel laughter. An hilarious ensemble cast of quirkie folk shewe the dailye japeries and jolitee of roial bureaucracie. The privy seel offyce is run by Michael Scot, who doth gret deedes of magique and yet kan nat conjure good fortune for hymself. Yonge clerk Tristram Canterbury soore loveth the receptioniste Ysolde Beesley, but sche ys to be marryed to an oothir man. Yet Tristrames loue sickenesse preventeth hym not from makinge an ape of the haughtie clerke Gareth de Schrute, who oftymes findeth hys quill and ink put ynto a jello mold. Both Tristram and Ysolde mocke Gareth, callinge hym “Beaumains.” (Ywrit in collaboracioun wyth Mayster Thomas Occleve)

Doctor Hwaet: Thys showe doth chronicle the aventures of a solitarye one who must wander the wayes of water on the rime-cold waves, mindful of miseries, yn a large device ycleped the TOWAERDES (the which ys a grete magique ship disguised as a burial mound) that alloweth hym to travel in tymes to come and also yn the places that ben past and the far landes of fantaysye. Alwey he sercheth out and protecteth a poem ycleped Beowulf the whiche he saveth from a fyre and also turneth yn to several filmes in order that the beautee of Angeline Joly may drawe newe rederes to thys tale. “That ys fanTASTick,” he saith yn the rare tymes whan he ys of good chiere. He fighteth many enemyes, includinge the Cybermonks, the Daneleks, and folk who thinke that “Geats” is pronouncid “geetz.”

falsnesse and the fals feendes who telle suche

2007-10-31T20:59:00.000Z

Benedicitee, good readers alle! I am out hyntyng with General Toe, famed general of Cathay, but I muste alerte yow, good readeres alle, to a hurtful and peynfulle falsnesse, of the whych thyng I have been ytold.

The mooste fals and churlische Marco Polo, thatte jerke, hath a posse. And thys posse doth proclaim the falsnesse of Marco Polo's supposed travels in a presentacioun of some kynde. But yt ys nat soth, that Marco Polo crossed the saltee see as have I! Marco Polo could nat swym across the Grand Canale, much the lesse come hither to Cathay!

Sothliche, I met Marco Polo at a taverene yclept Harries in Venice, long ago. Marco Polo--thatte wrecche!--was a washere of dishes and stemwarre at Harries, and after I had ydronke much Tuscan wyne that Marco ystole myne manuscriptes and claimed them as hys owne! O Marco Polo, I schal myself avenge upon yow when I retourn from the wynter home of the good General Toe!

Until then, good readeres, boy-cott the fals posse of Marco Polo! They claimeth that they would speke of theyre lies at the "Medieval Clubbe of Newe York," but thys proveth their unconnyng: there beeth nat no Newe York, and they be nat in the myddle of no thynge or tyme but rather they dryve me to the ende of my wittes!

Sir John in Cathay!

2007-10-17T15:09:00.000Z

Benedicitee, good readeres alle! Sir John Mandeville heere, havying crossed the see once moore on the kynges privee businesse and arrived at the court of the Greet Khan in Cathay! Thus I begge yowre pardoun for my longe silence; I was passyng over the sees and the sandy wastes into Cathay.

But ooh, gentiles, lat me telle yow of the wondres of Cathay! The Greet Khan hath accepted me ynto hys servyce on be-halfe of Kynge Richard, and I have y-seene many and diverse wonderes in the monthes I have y-spent in hys service.

*I have y-seen a greet merveyl, a machyne that pryntes pages, the whych can be fashioned ynto bookes!

*Cathay hath muchel paper, the whych mateere they fashion from the pulpe of reedes and trees.

*Myne newe freende, the most noble General Toe, hath yshewen me a thyng called gun-powdere, the whych animates artillerie, the whych thynges General Toe uses to hunt the wild chikkenes of Manchuria, the which fowles hys cookes make ynto a most riche and choice nourischment.

General Toe hath invyted me to joyne hym in the wildes of Manchuria in the dayes aheed. I have been learning about gun-powdere and preparing to go ynto the hunt for the wild chikkenes. As always, I schal keep yow apprised of my aventures!

Somer is y-going out.

2007-09-17T05:32:00.000Z

My deere rederes, it hath been a longe somer, and ful of muchel labour. Kyng Richard hath been avoidyng his roial uncles and many gret lordes of his realm, for thei wolde parte hym from hys advysours and hys courte (the which hath sum thing to do wyth the parliament last fall that many call the "Wondirful Parliament” but that Kyng Richard calleth the “Merdeful”). And sithen ich am the clerke of the kinges werkes, ich haue had to do al of the administracioun, and followen the court and set up all maner of water-slydes and tournamentz and moon-bounces. And thus hys majestee hath visited mony straunge strondes and fer places. First he and hys court did goon to...

By seynt Thomas, I kan writen namoore of thys. Myn herte ys redy to burste out of myn chest, so gret is the angre and the bittre sorwe that ys in my soule...

STOP YOUR SCLAUNDRES OF BRITNEY!

By the blood and nayles and bones of Our Lord, how swyving dare any man to make japeryes of Britney de Speres? Considereth, ye churles, how many sorwes hath y-flocked Britney-ward. Her aunt hath perisshed, and eek she hath tasted the wo that is in mariage, and she hath two swyving enfauntes for the which she must care. Ywis, her hosbond she founde to be nat but an dronklewe man, and a foule adulterer, and nowe the custodie of the children is in the proces of the courtes of the realme.

All of yower care is for the rederes of gossip and the silver that ye shal win when ye speke of her adversitee. YWIS, SHE IS A FLESHLICH CREATURE LIKE THOU OR ME, YE CHURLES!

Ye aren too blinde to see that Britney filleth yower pockets. Forsooth, Britney bringeth food to yower tables, and ye acquite her this by writinge a parcel of merde concerninge her lyf!

She hath nat daunced yn a court yn yeeres. She hath cleped her newest ballad “Yive moore unto me” by cause that it signifieth your avarice and your sclaundre of her, for all ye churles desiren is MOORE MOORE MOORE MOORE MOORE.

STOP YOUR SCLAUNDRES OF BRITNEY!

Ye shoulde be thankful that Fortuna hath smiled on yow ynough that Britney hath perfourmed for you harlotes.

STOP YOUR SCLAUNDRES OF BRITNEY!

Johannes Gower hath talked of professionalism and seyd that if Britney was an trewe professional she wolde have plesed the court no mattir what. Concerninge the mattir of professionalism, Mayster Gower, whan hath it been a thing of professionalism to openli sclaundre a soule that endureth grete paines and sorrowes?

STOP YOUR SCLAUNDRES OF BRITNEY!

O benedicite! O Weylawey!

STOP YOUR SCLAUNDRES OF BRITNEY ANON. For ich speke of the treuthe. If eny of yow hath a problem with Britney, thou kanst do battle with me, Geoffrey Chaucer.

For al beth not wel with her right now.

Leave her al oon.

Je vous en prie.

Boke II

2007-06-21T21:00:00.001Z

O mightye dung!!! Whan laste wrote me of the tale on how thynges fell witte nobles atte Tower, soddenly I discerned, that betwixt Constaunze and me there weren XI: Ich, Constaunze, Henry, Thomas Tweye, Joane, and Kateline. WHERE IN GODDES NAME BE MY SONNE JOHNE??? I mote have losten him atte Tower and seen hit nat! Goddes dignitee, how should I have losten myn eldest sonne with Johne and ne woten for a weke!? I shoulde loke, but I be nat in Londoun ynow, I am yjournee with a band of lewd folke who toke pitee to bring me North in her carte. O gentil rederes! – be ye gode and charitable men, kepen vigilaunt for my sonne, Johne Beaufort!
He is X yeres elde, with faire countenaunce as doth his name telle, paillid as the moone and hayre golden as the sunne, with a mightye a stomach for wine as you shall evere see of a X yere elde.

O, how agful me feleth! I toorned my childerenes overe to folkes I knowe but lite, but for Johne whom I gesse I did nat! Then I fleyed the Tower, and renne thurgh the villaines and rebeles to seken my suster at Aldgate. Ich, a noble woman conveyed al one in swych perile, I neded skriek “I be in troth but a servaunt!” and cast aboute my jeweles in the route to maken distracte of the folke. By Aldgate I was baren of jeweles, pinnes, and neare stryppened myself to my schrit forto misleden hem, but that might have merely maden an othir attencioun I woulde nat, so resisted.
I founde my susteres roumes and wenten the doore, beted and skrieked as some deville megesseth. Out renne Philippe, with a sword of Geffreyes, and swangen hit at me! Certes, were she ne woman with crappe aim, I should be deed ynow! Once that she knewe me she toke me within, and made a wall before the doore with setes and tables and bokes, and Gefrey gan tellen hir nat to usen the bokes in swych wise, and she toold him to shutten his lippes and watche the windwe. He guarded oone, Thomas, hir sonne, an othir, and litel Lewis was armed with manye daggres in the neightest roum with his mower litel suster Agnis. Philippe and me coked mete for hem alle, so should hem haven no nede forto goon from hir appointementes. I spoke of my miserye, and Philippe quod that hit was alle for that the churles and villains haten my Johne, for thinken hem that he be riche from takinge taxes and nat from cautious investement and because lady Blanches fathir, may she and he be in pes, was swiving riche and my Johne got hit alles whan she was deed.
I wayted with Philippe for II dayes, until we herde that Kinge Richard had gone to the rebeles and had these wordes:

CHIEF REBELE: Wele, King, seest thou here alle thyse menne?
KING RICHARD: Aye... ummm, forwhy?
CHIEF REBELE: For that I haven hem alle undre myn own commaunt, and haven hem alle given holy troth to doon any thinge I saye for hem.
KING RICHARD: Thatte is cool we gessen, huh huh huh.

Then Gode be praised, chere Wil Walworth renne out and quelled the rebele chief. Then Richard daunced aboute and sayed to the villains:

KING RICHARD: We are king! So you shoult doon whatever we saye, and go wey.
WIL WALWORTH: Yis, there be an armee of reenforcementes ycomming shortlye.

And syn thyse were pesaunts estupides who revolted because some tailor or tile-makkir toold hem, they all wente.
But there was ne jollitye for me none. Al I could was how my hoome in Londoun in gone, and my childeren are lost and stelen, and my Johne is farre away in Scotteland and might knowe nothinnge of hit any!

And so I sayed, “I shall finde my Johne!” and Philippe sayed, “Yis, go away from her, I will nat have villain to burnen the home ydoun,” so she gave to me some money and a hately gown forto kepe me sobtle, and so I am ynow, ywandre.

The Horrible Terrour: Boke I

2007-06-18T06:31:00.000Z

I have on mine own blog thyse poost ymade, but chere Geffrey quod I mote say any thinge of note on here eke. Wele, thys be of note.

Some of ye knowe nat the horror on the XIV dey but havyng seen hit with mine own two eyne I telle hit here. I may nat telle hit all at one time, for I be on the renne.

All cam whan that frist I herde the newes that Wil Walworth the meior had deraigned to shutten the ports of the citee, syn ynere there were rebeles. The aviseurs and King Richard were atte Tower, methinketh (there I sente hem tart de cerise a weke agone) and a noble man yforsed by the rebeles to serve hem, er his children should be quelled, sought to speke with hem. On Corpus Christi, I toke my childeren and alle we what mighte wente to the Tower to prayen with the King, that these rebeles should goon in pes ower else God to casten aqua fortis upon hem but nat on us. Aft we prayed, the aviseurs and King Richard set on a barque, to seen the rebeles, and I made to goon home to Savoy that I may telle yow gentil rederes of it all. Only then Richard wente nere shore and creyed lyk an idiot, “Churls, yow succen! LOL! Westen syyyyde!” Yis, he sayd L – O – L, and all the men of courte grucched. Thise be wherefore a XIV yere elde King hath aviseurs to seen the toyles. Richard toorned round straight wey to the Tower ayain. O! Were my Johne here ne LOL should have yspoken ben! At thyse wordes, the rebels stormed the citee, forsed the gates be oped and straight went to the Savoy. Mordred hem the guarderes, then in went and gan to smashen al mannir of thinges whils ychaunt with “Singen in the Rayn” so I am recited. Ystond on too-ende, I dede scarcely the Savoy see, and that swyving bitch Constaunze keped to schoven me aside, for she would see of my spot.There was the mighty Savoy, myn home with my swoote Johne. Then soddenly – clap! The winde reked al of gunne-powdre, and what lite remained of the palace was in flames. I and Constanze began to wepe, and eke alle min childeren and Kateline dede so. “O the humanitee!” we creyed, and alle oure poure servaunts we woote were deed, for ne no body should have lived.To the dey neightest, al were yterrour. I fered for myn elder childeren, Thomas Oone and Blanche who are at schole and far awey, and for my suster and hir housbond, and hirs. Philippe swynketh often for Constaunze ynow, and may have even been atte Savoy. My neere-nefew King Richard felte sore wretched for that he maked oure hoome become burst, so he gave Constaunze a tart de cerise. How nyce. I knew that same tart de cerise syn I made hit for him a weke agone. Then went he maken amends for saying LOL to the rebeles. As soon as oped the gates to lesse him leve, the villeines camen in to the Tower, and by my troth, creyed hem to quellen alle who be known to the Duke of Lancastre – my Johne. Poure Frere William erste was mordered, and soon hit semed all oure servaunts that were saved from flames should deyen from the revolt, bute mower Constaunze and my selfe dreded for oure childeren, who ne may renne wyth hir shorte legges, so we mote haulen hem and there be IV of hem and oonly Constaunze and me to haulen as we fleyde, uppe the staires, til I thought his should be a ful bad idee to flee uppe the staires and freyned “What is thyse, a horror tale?” And certes we ne might knowen, for there was Frere Williames heede upon a stick with bloode and salive yrun from him. We had fortune yet, for tis claimed that were the Kinges mothores dames (and nere Joane hirself) surprized by the rebeles, may hem hanged becomen. Then – gramercy Gode! – sighted we Henry, and John Ferrour who I wote nat, but he sayed, we should give to him the childeren and he should stelen hem in saufetee. Constaunze and me ne were able to holden hem namoore, so gave we him alle but Joane who is so smal. Alice de Holland then cam and quod she should take Joane so I mighte fleye. So Constaunze and me drove thurgh the throng armed contre the villeins wyth oure hayr-pines as weaponnes. Then fell a grete scheme to me, to skriek atte rebeles that Constaunze be the Duchesse of Launcastre and to fleye whan set hem upon hir; but I fered me should she creye with hir last breeth that I be the Dukes mistresse so kepte me with hir. Though I skrieked al the while, I founde the gate with Constaunze, and quod she should go where she would: but I must to my suster, to see she be unharmed.

I CAN HATH CHEEZBURGER?

2007-05-25T02:46:00.000Z

Myn gentil rederes, the joly tyme of Averille and May hath not been of much jolitee to me – in feyth, ich haue had but litel tyme to look upon the newe floures and heere the smale foules doyng their thinge, for cursid busynesse hath fallen a-newe vpon me. I was prikked to take thys biswinkful newe labor by grete nede, for whan ich madde myn accountes ich discovred gret dettes and but litel revenue. Thomas, who ys wyth my Lord John of Gaunt in Spayne, had gret need for moneyes to buye a newe blakberrie (for his hath been y-swiped by the Frensshe), and Lowys hath taken up an internship for the somer wyth a Man of Law and thus did need many a fyne robe and tie (ywis, Lowyses raiment on moost dayes ys but a tee shirte and jeans that falle neigh hys ankles for thei aren so loose). Performing the dutees of a Justice of the Pees ys helle of interestinge (cheefly whan we usen blacklites at a crime scene) but it payeth slightli less than nothinge. Ech daye, the many notyces did arryve from Master Card and from thos whom I owed dettes, and at long laste Philippa did taak the mattir into her owen strong, usually shakinge with anger, handes. In myn owen name and in myn owen script she wroot to my Lord Kynge Richard and asked if ther was sum posicioun available.

And so, my freendes, ich haue bicom the Clerk of Kinges Workes. Myn abacus, the which was in the store-room yput wyth Lowyses astrolabe, now gooth with me wheresoever ich go lyk vnto a new, wooden, boringe Ruth. Everich weekend, meseemeth, ich must go to Westminstre, or to the roail palais at Sheene, or to sum smal manor at which several important but unwiedli obiectes are kept that must, withouten delaye, be brought to sum oothir smal manor. And the clerk bifore me did leeve thinges in a soory state. Ich do beleeve that myn predecessour was yiven his knowledge of letteres by chikkens, for hys writinges and accountes aren moore lyk the walking up and doun of several hennes than any maner of human script. Peraventure he was bisy eetinge seed and clucking, for he did but litel of hys job: many an angrie gardiner or ice sculpture maker hath contacted me and yiven me muchel guff for not havynge been y-payed for labor in the kinges servyce. And get me not started concerninge the stonemasones union. But the cash beginneth to flowe. And thus myn owen accountes shal be made wel by my labour on the accountes of the propertees of my Lord the Kyng.

Al of my transportation of sundrie materials and makynge of accomptes hath left me but litel tyme for writing. Ywis, it hath left me but litel tyme for food, sleep or breathinge. And yet in this derke tyme of sorwe and tene, ich haue foond much deliit in the merveillous japeries of the internet. No thyng hath plesed me moore, or moore esed myn wery brayne than thes joili and gentil peyntures ycleped “Cat Macroes” or “LOL Cattes .” Thes wondirful peintures aren depicciouns of animals, many of them of gret weight and girth, the which proclayme humorous messages in sum queynte dialect of Englysshe (peraventure from the North?). Many of thes cattes (and squirreles) do desiren to haue a “cheezburger,” or sum tyme thei are in yower sum thinge doinge sum thinge to yt.

For many dayes ich haue desyred to maak Lolpilgrimes from the smal peyntures that Mayster Linkferste hath ymaad for my Tales of Canterburye - not oonly wolde it be a thing of muchel solaas to me, but it wolde be a good “pre writing exercise” (the which myn tutor, Archbishop Arundel, did alwey saye were of gret necessitee). And thus to-daye whanne ich had a smal spot of tyme bitwene a meetinge wyth a feng shui consultant and a recopyinge of the inventorie of carpentrie supplyes in Windsore, ich did go unto the wondrous LolCat Scriptorium of Gordon de McNaughton and did just go crazye. Syn ich haue not in many dayes y-poosted, ich shalle share with yow myn laboures.

Sum of the Pilgrimes of Canterburye transformed to LolPilgrims, ymaad by Galfridus Chaucer, Justice of the Pees, Clerke of the Kinges Workes

The Knight

The Maunciple

heere he shareth a lol concerninge the message of the tale ich haue planned for hym to telle
(and realli, what doth that figure hoold? Meseemeth he hath a potion of heale greater woundes in his hondes)

The Cook

(ich haue eek seen hym not wasshe hys handes bifor returninge to the makynge of pastees)

The Millere

chekke the font!

The Prioresse

The Summoner

heere he showeth his corrupcion through extortinge a cheezburger

Myn Owene Self

heere ich refute a clayme of grete errour that was ymaad at Kalamazoo (to which Sire John did travel and did heere and report the sclaundre).
(also, wherefore not Gian Bongiovi?)

The Pardoner

The Clerk of Oxenforde

The Wyfe of Bath

And eek to knytte up the tales and maken an ende of them, ich shalle haue a Parson who telleth an allegorie. Heere he taketh hys allegorie from the Book of LOL:

Until next tyme, gentils alle, may you hath ur cheezburgers, and ich praye God and Seynt Anthonie the Abbot that ye maye alle fynde ur buckets.

Sir John in Kalamazoo!

2007-05-09T22:34:00.000Z

Benedicitee, good readers alle! I, Sir John Mandeville, have passed the see and arrived in Kalamazoo! If it pleseth yow, fynde below the verray true ymages of myne journee to Kalamazoo!

Y did ryde a thyng marvellous and straunge--an yron hors, or so yt ys yclept. But methynketh yt was nat ryght horsly, thys yron hors.

Canst thow gesse whych room ys myne? Onse, whan that Y was mys-taken for thatte rogue Marco Polo I was putte ynto a prisoun in Turkeye. Yt was about the same as my board here in Kalamazoo.

Methought it goode to welcome my-selfe to Kalamazoo with a potent potable.

I schal be seen to-morrowe atte wyne houre; I hope to meet all and sundry!

Sir John in Kalamazoo!

2007-05-06T01:47:00.000Z

Benedicitee, goode readeres all! I am burnynge the mid-nyght oil in preparacioun for a greet voyage to the gatherynge of Kalamazoo, of the whych place Geoffrey hath regaled me with many jolie stories. (Whan that I heerd of free wyne I was sold.) Verily, I have studied the lines of picke-vppe, recytyng them ynto the mirour and practisyng myne smyle and wynke. Y have even contributed a newe line of picke-vppe: "Do yow have any St Albans yn yow? No? Would yow like some?"

I regrette only that the kinges privee busynesse schal force me to leeve Kalamazoo before the daunce of whych I have heered many a lurid storie of debauch.

Onse I have y-crossed the see I schal report of the greet festivitee that ys Kalamazoo! To yow all who schal set outte for Kalamazoo, bon voyage! Mayhap I schal meete you all atte wine houre.

"Whan that Aprill" Weekend

2007-03-30T19:54:00.000Z

Gentil rederes,

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.

Travel Tips from Sir John Mandeville

2007-03-23T14:18:00.000Z

in whych gentil rederes write unto me, Sir John Mandeville, with questiouns of travel

Hi, Sir John:

My husband and I both grew up in the Southwest, and this summer we’d like to explore a different part of the country. One of my co-workers has offered us the use of her summer house in Upstate New York, near Cooperstown, so we’re going to spend three weeks there in July. Any suggestions on what to see or do? A quick Google search tells me about the Baseball Hall of Fame and the Ommegang Brewery, but I wonder if there are any out-of-the-way wonders I should see.

-Amy in Berkeley

Deere Amy:

Ah, the southe-weste! I knowe of yowre village, Berkley, the which place is in Somerset. Or scholde I seye Zomerzet? I drynke zyder in Zomerzet! Whirr be gwain to? Tiz getting dimpsey, zo cummin yer an wet thee's whistle. Yer, which o they jars is owern? Thicky ones yourn, inner? Dang I if there ain’t a gurt big wapse innun.

O, forgyve me myne japerie! The speeche of Somerset is swete to myne eeres, and I do love to here yt. Any-waye, I trowe that yow are drynkynge a draught of moist and swete cyder—there beeth nat no towne of coopers in York-shire! Ymagine thatte, a whole towne of barrel-makeres! Whatte nexte? A towne in whych all the folke brewe cyder? As for oddities, I have two: the grave of Charles Piazza Smyth in Sharow, the whych thing is y-shaped lyke unto the pyramid in Aegypte, and the work-shoppe of Robert Thompson, the Mouse-Manne, in Kilburn.

My Dear Sir John:

With the introduction of European Union pet passports I am at long last able to travel abroad with my darling baby, Reginald, a five-year-old spaniel mix. Where might a gentleman and his beloved canine relation find welcome over the summer?

-Clement of Soho

Sire Clement, am I to understond that yow have unto yow a child who ys a mix of manne and dog? Verily, I have y-seen swich creatoures before, yn the isle of Nacumera, in the whych place all the folke have the heads of dogs and the verray bodies of men. Yow will be welcome there.

Dear Sir John:

I’m being posted to Mozambique on a diplomatic assignment. Anywhere I should eat in the capital?

-Nelson, Johannesburg

Nelson: Costa do Sol, a seafood restaurant on the Marginal. But drynke nat the greene wyne, for yt is lyke unto turpentine.

Dear Sir John:

I’m a big Elvis fan, and I’m planning a pilgrimage to Graceland this August, on the thirtieth anniversary of the King’s death. Any suggestions?

-Elmo in San Jose

Elmo:

Verily, myne suggestioun is to buye myne booke, in the wych noble tome yow may easily fynde the waye to Jerusalem, the destinacioun of any pilgrimage to grace-land. And get your historie ryght: the laste kynge of Jerusalem was nat a Saxoun yclept Elvis, but was Henry, secounde of that name, who passed thys lyf sixty or mo yeeres ago.

My Dear Sir John:

Norma and I wanted to thank you for your excellent travel advice. I found Adelaide’s Museum of Economic Botany every bit as thrilling as you described! Too bad there weren’t any Little Chefs in Australia, but we fared well enough at Red Rooster, thanks again to your advice. We look forward to having you round for dinner soon—and, of course, seeing you at the Oval.

Yours,

Sir John Major, KG, CH

Dear Sir John:

I’ve always wanted to visit my ancestral homeland, Ireland, and it looks like now I finally have the chance. My visit will start in Dublin, and I wonder if you can recommend a clean, inexpensive hotel.

-Mike Hogan, Cleveland

Mike:

All lodging in Yrlonde is inexpensive. Though that I have nat crossed the Yrysshe See, my freende, Henry Crystede, a gentil equerry to Kynge Richarde, accompanyed our tres puissant lorde to that isle, and he hath no goode thereof to sey. Henry telleth me that the Yrish lyve in holes in the grounde, lyke animales, and that they weareth nat no breeches and have rude maneres atte borde. Go thither if yow plese, but neglect nat to brynge with yow a tente, or at leeste a sleeping bagge, as yow will, sans doubte, slepe uppon the grounde.

Buy Myn Anthologie!

2007-03-09T03:50:00.000Z

O myn gentil rederes, yt hath ben a ful loonge tyme syn ich haue had a moment to wryte a good long poost for myn blog. Loong agoon ich did retourne fro parliament to myn hous in Kente, to fynde litel Lowys in a staat of gret distres upon the roofe! Ich did thynke that sum yonge ladye had raft his herte in twayne, but it turneth out that his Exboxe CCCLX had, as he seyde, “bricked out.” The which was a thing of tristesse for me als wel, for the thynge was al tobroke and wolde nat playe eny games of video. Whan Philippa and ich had talked hym off of the roof ("the warrantie yet stondeth" she seyde), ich entrid my hous to fynde that Kyng Richard had sent a gret quantitee of thinges for me to wryte for hym, the which had mad a gret pyle lyk unto the towir of Babil. And half-wey thurgh myn first night of werke, Philippa did leve the bath on and the house flooded and we haue had a gret sucessioun of carpet-makeres and carpenteres in and out -- sum dayes, ich thinke ich might as wel be the Clerk of the Kinges Werkes, so much construction do ich oversee alredy in this hous! And thus, my goode felawes, ich haue been wyth werke y-swamped, myn fingres wyth ink y-caked, myn shoon wet, myn litel woolen hat y-dusted with sawe-dust, and quilles on my floore as yf an whole parlement of fowles hath y-murdered ben.

Yet oon idea for a project hath in myn herte taken root. Ywis, ye remembren that ich bought many a book whan in Londoun. And yet, for everich book that Ich did buye, yet myn desir for to rede did growe. Ich went from autobiographie, to self-helpe, to westernes, to poetrye – and rederes, whan ich to poetrie y-cam, ich found that ther was no collecioun of poetrye the which had all the beste poemes yn it. For trewely, al the colleciouns of contemporarye poetrye are but poore thin thinges – even the mighti Northon anthologie hath but litel poesie yn it – ywis, even the lerned anthologie of Doctour Treharne hath but fewe of the poemes that ich have y-heard and y-lovid.

And thus, at the prompting of Philippa, who seeth shillinges undir every mannes foot, ich haue taken up the businesse of sellinge myn owene anthologie of poetry:

GALFRIDUS CHAUCERES ANTHOLOGIE OF POETRIE IN PROPER (MIDDLE) ENGLISH

Ich am in negociaciouns wyth several scrybes and scryveneres to produce thys fyne book. Ye maye look for it at booke-stores neare yow, or contact Hippolyta on-lyne and haue it delivered to yow by warrior-women of the Land of Femenye.

Heere ys what thei call a smal “pre-viewe” of the gret poemes ye shal fynde in myn anthologie. Ye shal see that thys gret book containeth poemes by cherles and kynges, the wel-knowen and the anonymous; poemes of hard livinge and beere and poemes of gret beautee. And nat oon single lyne of that Beowulf thing that is everywhere else. THE CHAUCER ANTHOLOGIE: Poemes that no oothir anthologie of middle englysshe hath evir dreamt of!

THE FORTNIGHTS RUN AWAY LYK DRAUGHT-OXEN BEHINDE THE BARN

by Carolus de Bois-Quasqué

I was goinge somewhere
like chirche
but I got round to Betties
and she had sum ale going
and spices and al that maner merde
and ich seyde to myself
“Swyve this”
Good beere, and sat ther
Cess and Watt, elde buggere Tim Tinkere,
Clarice Cokkeslane – helle, ich hadde a thinge
a couple yeeres ago wyth her
back whan ich was deep yn to the horses.
Had a beere.
Clement and Hikke had sum bull-merde thing up
wyth ther cloke and hood
sum men aren alweys thinkinge money
or mayhap thei wantid to swyve ech oothir.
Moore beere, lyk continuous blood-
And the sonne-set red lyk an appel.
Belly rumblinge lyk a swyving bulle
Up to goon
Pissid on the bar-walle, long ynogh to singe sum opera-
Fell around swyve-all y-blente.
Sum oon carryed me hom-ward
Sleped for dayes yt semed, al blak;
Ich here myn wyfes voys
“Hank, ‘tis Sonday”
and ich seye
“Where is the bolle?
Ich want a drynke.”

THYS IS JUST TO SAYE

by Nostre Trespuissant Kynge Richard II

We haue had y-slayn
the knightes
that were in
Newgate

And which
ye were probablie
wisshyng
vs to pardoun

Forgyveness
nevir!
The lawe of Engelonde is ower will and lieth in ower breest, knave.

KUBLAI KAHN (OR, MARCO POLO LIETH THURGH HYS TEETH)

by Sir John Mandeville

In Xanade a mighti soudan yclept Kublai Khan has ther ymaad a place of leysure neer the watir ycleped Alph the which is heeld hooly by the saracens and is neer to greet cavernes. The walles and toures of that place do mesure an greet span, that is to say x myles, and ther are also many fayre gardyns right plenteous of fruyt. And ther was als wel an crevyce the which ran doun the hill toward trees of cedar, at whos bottom was a well, noble and faire, and at several houres of the daye it wolde yive spoute and russhe with watir. I, Iohn Mandeville, saw this, al thogh ich had nat bathed for mony dayes and thus myn hair did float in a maner and myn eyen did flash for ich had no thyng to eten of ther but honeydew melons and sum horses milk. And al folk did daunce thryce around me in their pagan maner. Weirdoes.

WHAN ADAM DELF

by Anonymous

Whan Adam delf, and Eve span,
Who had to write two bookes to get tenure?

THE DAYE LADYE BLAUNCHE PERISSHYED

by Sir John Clanvowe

Yt is terce in Londoun a Tuesday (or peraventure a Wednesday)
Two dayes bifor the Feest of the Exaltacioun of the Holy Crosse, aye,
Yt is MCCCLXVIII or peraventure MCCCLXIX and ich go to get my bootes shyned
for ich will ryde my palfrey toward Northampton
by vespers and then go right to sup
and ich knowe nat thos folke who shal me feede
Ich walke up the strete, thikke of air, the sunne gynneth shynen
and haue a blancmanger and sum corny ale and buye
an ill-fauored pamflet of NEW BOHEMIAN WRITINGE to seen what the poetes
in Bohemia aren doynge thes dayes
I go on to the exchequer
and Mayster Stondecart (firste name Laurence oones ich herde)
looketh nat at the posicioun of myn accounte stones on the felt for oones in hys lyf
and yn MAYSTER PYNKHURSTES shoppe ich get a litel Machaut
for Geoffrey wyth illuminaciouns by sum Parisian, yet ich do
thynk of Boece de Consolatione, translatid Jean de Meun or
Langlandes newe A-Text Piers or Yvain or Lancelot
of Chrestien, but ich do nat, ich am stedfast to Machaut
aftir well nigh fallynge a-swoun wyth quandarynesse
and for Gower ich just repaire to the CHEPESIDE
tavenrer and ask for a botel of god rhenishe wyn, and
than ich go back whence ich cam to Soperes Lane
and the grocer nere the Pageant Wagon and
lightli demaunde a carton of spyces of pepir and oon
of galyngale, and a PROCLAMACIOUN wyth her visage upon it
and ich sweate muchel nowe and ich thynke upon
leaning on the chambre door at the palais of Sheene
whil she did daunce so comlily, carole and synge so swetely
that my lord Duk John and al and mynself brethed nat

JESU ME

by Dame Julian of Norwich

Hethen slaye yow;
Ovens are hotte;
Inquisitores flaye yow;
And plague-sik haue snotte.
Abbesses growe fatter;
Prechours moote wirche,
Pilgrims oft chatter:
Wall me in a chirche!

Sir John in Nuneaton!

2007-03-05T10:47:00.000Z

Benedicitee, good sires and ladyes alle! Thisse daye I am in Nuneaton, in the Warwickshirre, returnyng from Scotteland and Northumberlond, in they wiche contrees I have yspent the laste monthe. (Mine belye, of whych I sore complayned, ys nowe muchel bettre, and I thanke alle who were concerned for mine digestioun.)

Verily, readeres myne, I have ycome uppon verray stinkynge treasoun here in Nuneaton, and I am embroiled in falsnesse and perfidee! Ah, but I lose my waye, and I schal telle yow of howe I came ynto Nuneaton.

I am on my waye to Leamington Spa, in thatte place to see to the kynges privee busynesse, and yesternyght I came ynto Nuneaton. Methoughte yt was a pleasaunt towne, and I hadde heerd telle of a fyne market heere. Yt plesede me to stoppe at a taverne, there to have a draughte to drynke and to ete. (I prefer the Lytel Chef, of course, but I koude nat fynde one.) So I came unto the Chicago Rock Cafe, the wych taverene announced on a boarde outsyde a speciale on "garlic pizza bread", the wych sounded good to myne palate. So ynne I wente, and I gat for mynself thys garlyk breede and a delicious draughte knowne as a Long Islande Iced Tee. Tee I have nat hadde synce I was in the realme of Prester John, eeste of Ynde and atte the begynnyng of the daye, and I was of greet good cheere to fynde it in Nuneaton. (Butte thys tee ys nat wholly lyke the tee of Prester Johnnes realme; thys tee hath muchel spirit and ys sweete without sugre. Mayhap thys longe isle ys a place in the tropicale Yndes that hath by nature sweete, potente tee.)

As I partooke me of myne pizza breede and tee I looked rounde aboute me, and I espyed three gentils atte board, two menne and a fayre ladye. Manye an emptye botle of J2O was aboute that ladye, and the menne were drynkynge a beere knowne in Allmanne, yclept lager. I ordered anothre tee. The gentils, yt semed me, myght provide good companye, so I bidde them good cheere and presented myne-self as Sire John Mandeville, knyght, though that I unworthi am.

Readeres all, they semed nat impressed. I tolde them of myne booke, the whych ys a "best-sellere". They semed nat impressed agayne. I tolde them of the tee that I hadde in the realme of Prester John, and I ofred that lyke to procure for us alle. Thys impressed them.

O, the perfidee! The menne wyth whom I fell in companye were y-plotting verray treasoun! Readeres, there ys in Nuneaton a ladye who ys, by eleccioun, the Nuneaton Carnival Queene, who ys enthroned in glorie atte the carnivale, whyche ys in the fayre summre, in June. "But the girls who get to be queen, who are in the running, see, they're a bunch of stupid slags, and every year I lose," sayde the ladye--who, readeres, was nat no ladye at alle, and no gentil neyther! She sayde moore: "So we's going to make sure that I win. We's gonna bribe the jury. Plus the usual threats and intimidation to the other girls, a course." The two menne made punchynge gestures wyth their fystes.

O, gentils, I knewe nat whatte I scholde do! As yt was, I was a lytel dronke from the tee, and I excused myne-selfe. "Y have y-cutte myne foote, and myne boote is fillynge wyth blode," I sayd. "Good to meete yow, though." And thenne I lymped awaye.

I muste warne the Nuneaton Carnival Queene of thys foul treasoun that ys being plotted agaynst hir successours! Off, thenne, I go!

Dark Ages? Saith Who?

2007-03-04T15:53:00.000Z

Alas, mesemeth that this shewe of television may nat be worth an hogges toord. For what was the derknesse but the lack of lerninge in Latin, and the gret werres and disastres? And lo, even in this tyme in which we think owerselves to be modern, ther beth but litel lerninge (long it hath been sith an Austyn or a Bonaventure walked among us) and ther beth manye werres, swich as the gret werre bitwene Fraunce and Engelonde that mesemeth shal enduren for C yeeres or moore. If thos ages were derke, then oweres are derke als wel, and yet ich kan see clearly. Wel, actuallye ich haue astigmatism and haue to squint to see who maye be coming up my driueway, but ye get my poynte.

Tremulus Æscgar sends a Seynte Valentynes Message for Þu

2007-02-14T14:14:00.000Z

Hwæt! Tremulus Æscgar is min nama! Ic eom what ‏þu yclepst poet, but meseemeth þæt hit bið bettir gif þu yclepst me scop, lyke what menn yclepeð poetes whylom. Maniye scopes dyd wryte of menn lyke Breca ond his swymminge, or the storyes of Widsið who vysited maniye kynges on sondry londes, or evene that olde songe abuten Beowulf, Ecgtheowes bearn, ‏who kylled sum geante ond his modor. Ic eom, pardee, a god Christen, ond Ic nolde wryte næfre of those heathenne guyes – ond soothly Ic ne thynke that those olde songes schall beth remembred, for thei beth ay about deeth ond fyghtynge. Thatte ys nat terribli interestyng.

‏Nathelees, Ic thynke that thys newe poesie, mid hire rhymes, ne beth whatte Ic wolde wryte, ond so ‏þu miht see that min songes beth differaunt fram those of Vostre GC. Min rederes, hit ys nat par chaunce! Ic haue min home in the norð, ond so Ic speke an Englisc differaunt fram thatte of GC. In facte, we met whan Ic wæs oon ‏þe roaade in Kent, travellynge to a puys – the which Ic thynk ‏þu miht yclepst a “poetrie smityng,” or somthyng lyke to thatte. Eek, min mayster wæs a scop also, ond he shewed me how to wryte in the manere of ‏scopes ‏who lyved in the dayes of Ælfred kynge ond halige Edweard. He wrohte songes of Arthure cyninge, ond hys cnihts, on ealle hira aventures. But, hit mesemeth ‏there beth songes ynogh þæt synge of werre – hit thynketh me þæt Englisc wæs ymaade pour Amor!

Swa Ic wolde wryte min songes newes ond pooste hem here, ywrit on ealde Englisc, ‏þæt ic hæfde maad lyke those ealdre songes, ‏þæt were sungen bifore the Frenssh cam to Engelonde. Gode Syr Chaucer hath sayde that Ic maeg poste here whanne Ic haue poemes newe – ond ic wolde sterte wið a poeme GC herde hymselfe, whan we met in Kent. Hit ys ycleped “Þin Leoð” – the which in ealde Englisc meant “‏Þin Songe,” on hit almooste ywon fyrste plaace! Ond as hit beth a songe of Amor, soothly hit is parfaite for thes feest of Seynte Valentyn. But fyrst, for manye ne kan the ealdre tonge, Ic wille gloser ‏min songe for þu, so thatte þu wyll nat be loste...

An povren ceorl ysyngen to his ladye love:
“Min gift ys min songe, ond this songe ys for ‏þu. Ond þu mayst ysingen thes songe, soothly, of yowerselfe. Ic nylle hit beth lyke a tormente for ‏þu, ond nu, as hit beth ydoone – Ic wylle ‏hit beth nat heteful to þu, thatte Ic sayde the which Ic hadde on min mynde – How blysseful hit beth, that Ic may lyve on yower healle. Full oft Ic, lyving aloone, aweited ‏þin mercye, for Ic nylle a blissyde thyng kepe as secrete. Ond there bið noone lyvnge sauwle who myghte hit seye to me – eower eyen: beth hem grene or blue? Natheelees, soothly Ic hit knowe: hie beoð the fayrest eyen on ealle the worlde. ”

Þin Leoð

Leoð min bið me giefe – ic wille gesingan to ‏þe
Meaht þu be ‏þe selfum soð-giedd singan
Leoð min nis nealle earfoðlic,
ac nu, forðæm hit gefremedon is –
Ic ne wille ‏hit beon þe laðlice
þæt ic sægde þæt þæt ic hæfde on gemynde:
Hu lif gesælig is, hwonne ic eom inne sele ‏þinre.
Oft ic anhaga, are gebide, miltse ‏þinre,
for-‏þæm gesæligne oft on min breost-cofan
ic ne wille bindan fæste, and nis nu cwicre nan
‏þe he meahte me cwiðan, oððe asecgan:
eagan ‏‏þine – beoð hie grene oððe hæwene?
Ac ic to soðe wat: beoð hie gesæligost eagena
geond wide worulde, feor oððe neah.

A Blisful Daye of Seynte Valentyne to ‏þu ealle!

Whatte Schal I Be Lyke in MCD?

2007-01-29T02:58:00.000Z

Benedicitee, good readeres all. I have recovered from myne indigestioun brought aboute by the cuisine of Scotte-land, and I thonke yow alle for yowre goode wishes. I am now burnynge the taperes late in New-Castle, on my retourn to Londoun.

Thys evenygne I thoughte aheed, to the futur, and whan I arrived in New-Castle I took thys quizz, the whych promises to foretell my futur, in the yeer MCD. Heer are the results:

The Knight

You scored 28% Cardinal, 30% Monk, 44% Lady, and 67% Knight!

You are the hero. Brave and bold. You are strong and utterly selfless. You are also a pawn to your superiors and will be lucky if you live very long. If you survive the Holy wars you are thrust into you will be praised for your valor and opportunities both romantic and financial will become available to you.

Though I am pleesed that I schal stille be a knyght a few yeeres hense, I am somedeel concerned that I am xliv per cent the ladie. I hadde y-heard talke of men of myne age who are single, thynne, and neete, but xliv per cent? Sheeshe.

Until nexte,

Sir John

the moost sincere form of flatterie

2007-01-29T00:58:00.000Z

BSL! Ich am y-chuffed and eek astonyed to see that sum ffolke haue maad a MynSpace page for me. Ich assure yow, gentil rederes, that be nat me, thogh it doth quote from myn blog. The ffolke who haye made the page knowe much about me, saue that ich abhor beethoven, and ich wolde nevir a mynspace page y-make (lowys hath mad a bargayn with me that ich shal nevir to mynspace go, so that he and his freendes may nat feare that ich mighte 'fugazi their shenaniganz all up'). So gentil rederes, if ye haue seisin of land on mynspace, ich urge yow to befreend this othir avatar of me that is by kynde folk y-written in my honour.

Sir John in Scotteland

2007-01-26T03:07:00.000Z

BSL, but I have been sore ill thys nyght, and I begge yow, gentils alle, yowr pardoun yf I muste take hasty leave of thys poste for to run to the privee. Though that I have traversed the whoole erth, and though I have eten of many a straunge sustenance, fro the fisshe of the gravelly see of Asie to skewered crocodile sowthe of Ethiopie, nevere have I been so dyscombobulated in my bellye as I am now, northe of oure Englysshe border.

After I posted laste I was sent northe to Scotteland on the kinges privee busynesse. Havyng conducted thys in Edinborough I came northe alonge the see, past St Albans to Forfar, in Angus. Heere I have an oolde freende, the whych gentil I met many yeeres ago in Parys. He is of the clan yclept Guthrie, a moost noble and oold family of Scottes who longe have serven their kynge. My freende, James Guthrie, ys a smale man, greetly fond of whiskie and ale, and I had fro long tyme wanted to see hym agayn. Lyke hys fellows heere in Scotteland, he can nat do ynough for his guests, but readeres, I fain that he woulde have done not half of whatte he dyd!

Oo, freendes, he commaunded a greet feest to be prepared in mine honour, but nevere had I seen food of the lyke! Our meel was served with bread deep-fryed. I was y-given some thyng called "the haggis of honour" that semed to me to be the verray spare partis of a sheepe, but whych James swore was "spices and lovely thynges". For a sweete we hadde deep-fyed Mars bars, whych were nat red, but dyd make mine blood to y-boil within mine bellye. And wyth these accursed comestibles came endless whiskie, whych drynke is moost injurious to kynghtes and oother lyving thynges.

The Scottes be verray true and freendlie, that ys no dowte, but, for goddes dignitee, pakke yowr owne lunch. O! My belye! I must away!

I remain, queasilie yours,

Sir John Mandeville

Myn first quizz!

2007-01-23T20:19:00.000Z

O gentil rederes, now that ich haue completid a meme, ich wolde fayne lerne much of the oothir VII liberal arts of blogging, the which aren:

the bloviatrivium
I. angrye commentes that run for pages
II. lengthie monologue advocatinge my political posicioun
III. bringing nazis yn to an argument
the procrastidrivium
IV. memes
V. quizzes and surveys
VI. makynge avatars
VII. poosting pictures

Ywis, having nowe tryed my hande at memes, ich haue to the next art of the procrastidrivium y-moved, and haue made a quiz of medieval trivia. Ich warne yow, this ys hard-core stuff, nat for the casual redere. Yt ys meant to test the depth of yower lore and knowlech:

The Gret Quizz of Medievale Trivia

Update: Thogh earlier it semed that ther was sum problem at the syte, the quiz semeth to werke nowe. Also, ich warne yow that it is full of questiones the which aren trewely obscure, so be nat discouragid. If ye haue questiones about the questiones, ye may ask heere (yet may ye plese write 'spoilerz' bifor yower comment so as nat to ruin it for oothirs).

Anothir Update: For thos consultinge the internet, Ich haue discoverid that wikipedia is soorely incorrecte concernynge oon of the answeres. Be war er ye be wo!

Mongrel Nacion: Regnum Anglorum, en demi-part Ynglisshe

2007-01-16T22:35:00.000Z

Mesemeth that Mongrel Nation sholde be a showe of televisioun of muchel plesaunce and sentence. Yt peyneth me soore that ich haue nat yet viewed it. Yet, may the wyse and witty Therese Niels-Son Heydon be thonkid, ich (and ye) kan watch it vpon ye-tube. Certes, Eduard d'Eissard ys a man of muchel charme, and certes Guillaume de Bragge singeth trewely. nota bene: Ich am curteisly and fairly corrected by e-mayle from Patrick Niels-Son Heydon that the name ys nat in no way spellid "d'Auyden" but rathir "Heydon" lyn vnto the toun in Northefolk. How Gower of me, to add in Frensshe whersoevir ich mighte.

V Thinges Meme

2007-01-12T20:27:00.000Z

Ich haue now twies y-tagged ben for the ‘V thinges ye knowe nat concerning me’ meme.

A meme, gentil rederes, is a smal taask the which oon writer of blogges performeth and then passeth on to othirs for to doon hemselves. Mesemeth ther aren many memes yn the court of King Richard (at which ich and my famille did spende the holidayes), swich as “King Richard now uses a smal scrap of cloth to clene his nose, YE MUST ALSO SO DOON OR YE SHALL HAUE YOWER LANDES FORFEIT AND YOWER HANDES CUT OFF” or “King Richard now uses a smal metal rod wyth a cup on its end for to drinken of his soupe, YE MUST ALSO SO DOON OR YE SHALL HAUE YOWER LANDES FORFEIT AND YOWER HANDES CUT OFF.” By Seynt Dawkins, good King Richard ys the gretest creator of memes that ich knowe.

And yet for to speke of moralitee, a meme ys a thing that draweth attencion to the habits and natures of ffolk and tendeth toward pride and surquidrie, for the doing and making of memes prompteth ffolk to talk at gret length of their maners and opiniouns and historyes. And the word ytself containeth the treuethe of this lesson in its verye spellinge -- in the same maner as yn the langage of the romayns the word signyfiynge frendship or love, amicus cometh from the word for hook, hamus, for freendes and loveres hook yn to ech othirs soules lyk velcro. And thus considereth that the word meme ys writ 'me me', and thus a meme is a reduplicacioun of a singuler self and a gloryinge in ego. Ich wolde that sum wyse folk sholde make 'theethees', the which wolde be actes of charitee and goodnesse that yive vnto othirs. Ich haue a theethee for yow, my gentil rederes – yive a freende a copye of my poemes for the feest of Seynt Hilary.

But to retournen to my matir, ich haue ben asked to participate yn a meme, the nature of which is to telle V thinges that fewe peple knowe concerning me. And thus ich shalle, for to be gentil and curteis towardes thos othir bloggeres who haue me y-tagged. Ich shalle vse thys meme to telle sum detayles of my personal lyf and newes of my blogge, and thogh my face ys sum deel reed wyth embarassment at certayn detailes, yet ich shall share yn the maner confessionale wel suyted to blogges.

V THINGES YE MAYE NAT KNOWE CONCERNING GALFRIDUS CHAUCER (YET EFTSOON YE SHALL KNOWE YF YE REDE BELOW)

Iste thinge: Whan ich was yonge, oon yere for Christemasse my fadir announcid that he wolde buy me an englisshe longebowe for my gifte, so that ich mighte practice the art of archerie and lerne to defend the realm. Ich soore resisted, seyinge ‘Ich shal shoote oute myn eyen.’ Every daye of advent he wolde speke to me sayinge, ‘Jeffie, ye shall haue a fyne longebowe for a gift at Christemasse.’ And ich wolde saye ‘nay, fadir, ich shal shoote oute myn eyen, yive me rathir a boke of cicerones dreme of scipioun or peraventure a gothic belt.’ And whan Christemasse cam, the gifte was in sted a gift certificate for pizza, for my fadir is a good man and a mery.

IInde thinge: Ich haue a cat named Christopher who loveth marshes and swampes. Ich haue composid a poem to hym entitled Jubilate Stagno.

IIIrde thinge: Thogh thys be recent, yt hath nat been well y-publicised. After a short misundirstondinge, ich haue joyned in sworn brothirhede wyth Sir Baba de Brynkmann, a good man that maketh dope rymez of my poemes for the delit and edificacioun of studentz. Knowe all ye haterz present and future that thos who wolde mess wyth Sir Brynkmann shal also get a tun-full of Geoffrey. Ich am soore annoyed to heare that sum folke see nat the worthe of hys makinges and musique - and sum write him saying that “chaucer would have none of this rap crap.” Litel knowe thes ffolk that NWA’s “Expresse Yowerself” ys oon my favourite poemes. Noli nothis permittere te terere, Baba: Ich mynself haue receyved swich criticism. Ywis, whanne ich gan writen myn poemes yn fyve-stress ryming englisshe coupletes, oftimes ich got muchel grief from snooty nobles who seyd: ‘La poesie est proprement composee en langue normande, gros vilein avec ton petit chapeu de laine! La langue anglais est langue des pesauntez et labourerz & nest nemye belle! Par Seint Eloy, cest langue anglais est seulement pur escrivre le doggerel alliteratif, come les poemes del horrible escripteur qui sappelle Anonymous.’ O, fooles all: for Englisshe has bicom the hot newe trend and ich am on top of yt y-surfynyg, lyk to Keanu yn Poynt Break! As Dant the Italyen seyd: 'ther is oon thing worse than to have tales of yow y-told, and that is nat to have tales of yow y-told.'

IVthe thinge: My biggest compleynt: Whan wil ffolk stop saying ich nam nat real? Whan wil thei stop asking for my “real name”? What part of G-E-O-F-F-R-E-Y C-H-A-U-C-E-R do thei nat vndirstonden? An editor from WIRED magazine did contact me to aske if that fyne publicacioun mighte printe a part of my poost concerninge internette abbreviacions. Thys was gentil and did plese and honor me gretli, and ich consentid. And yet thei wantid to yive credit to “Geoffrey Chaucer (aka your real name)” and thei wanted to knowe what ich do in “in real lyf.” Whan ich toolde hem that my trewe cristen name was Geoffrey Chaucer (Galfridus in latina) and that ich am a justice of the pees in Kente and a member of parliament, thei seyd thei coud nat print it. For thei seyde thei coud nat printe writinge “without attribution to a real person.” What am ich, liver y-chopped? Reality ys harder to com by than a duchy thes dayes, mesemeth.

Vthe thinge and final: Helas, in the custom of thes memes, much of the aboue ys complayning and whining. And yet peraventure that ys in my nature. For whan ich was yong, ich was sum thing of a goth (or gothic): the which ys a depressid yong person who wisheth to be part of an ancient culture. Ich wroot lettres to my gothic frendes yn visigothic script, and studyed Jordnes boke ycleped Getica. At night, ich went to goth clubbes – constructed wyth horshoe arches withouten key-stones - at which ich was ycleped ‘Alaric’ by my freendes. Ich dressid mynself yn rough robes wyth big ornate belt buckles, and oones ich got in trouble wyth myn parisshe preest for pretendinge to be an Arian. Ther was many a feud bitwene the Visigoths who lovid the musique of soft ethereal synthesizers and the Ostrogoths who listned to the harshe musique of guitares and powernoyse. And everichon complained about the musique at the club the while smokinge clove cigarettez. Yt was pretty foolish, to think back upon it, and yet being a yonge goth was part of who ich am – it dooth myn herte boote that I have in a club freakie y-got to The Systren of Mercie. Certes, being a goth led me to lerne of Boethius, who was by the goth Theoderic murdred. So a shout-oute to all yonge goths out ther: sai atgaf ïzwis waldufni trudan ufaro waur me jah skaurpjono · jah ana al lai mahtai fijandis jah waihte ainohun ïzwis ni gaskathiith, children of the night!

Margerye Kempe at the Feest of MLA

2007-01-05T03:41:00.000Z

Gentil rederes, ayen ich crave yower pardoun. Of late, ich haue ben busier than Britney Spearses PR agentes. Many dayes haue passed sithen ich haue last y-blogged. But for to yiven yow sum mattir for redyng, ich haue a text of gret sentence to share, thogh nat by me ywrit. Ich haue many freendes across thys gret erthe and oftimes thei sende me their werkes and such. Oon of hem ys a ladye of much spirituale knowledge who oft writeth of her aventures. She hath sent me thys her latest tretys, the which speketh of a straunge festival ycleped MLA, be it of fayerye or of devilrye ich knowe nat. Ich nam nat no theologien, nor nam ich a mystique lyk my freend Margery. Ich shal poost her boke heere and ye maye maken yower owen interpretaciouns.

Date: 3 Janvier
From: KEMPE, MARGERYE (desperaathouswyf@kempesoflynn.com)
To: GEOFFREY CHAUCER, M.P, J.P., D. D. S. (daliaunce@hotmail.com)
Re: MY MOOST FRESHE AND NEWE TRETYS ON MLA - FOR YOWER BLOGGE

(Ye maye just poost the text belowe. My loue to Lowys and Philippa and Thomas.)

Here begynnyth a schort narracioun for synful wrecches, of the gret merci that ower Lord Christ Jhesu did unto a synful caytyf at the rite of MLA amonges the paynims and the scolers of blakke magick. (Thys synful caytyf and creatur is callid Margerye Kempe and her bookes can be yfounde in many fyne scryvyneres shoppes).

I

In the seson of Cristemasse, thys pore creatur and caytyf did fynd herself in a straunge launde. For sche had maad passage to Ba'alt-Ymoor, the which citee she thoghte was yn the launde of the Sarazines ner the citee of Jerusalem. And she had gret compuncion and wepynge for the synfulness of her ignorance of geographie, for Ba'alt-Ymoor was in no wyse close to tho placez wher ower Lorde dyed on cross, but was in sted across a gret see and ytself was a place of passinge foulness wher ffolke did etyn only of the crabbes that walked on the floor of the bay Chesupyk and did watch the filmes of Johannes des Eaux (Pink Flamingoes did frighten her gretly). And thys creatur was sore afreyd of the synneres of that place and so sche went forth northewardes on the heighway XCV. Yet the way was long and her feet ached swich that she threw off her manohlo blahnikes and sat by the syde of the heigh way wepynge. And this was on the feest of Seynt John. As thys creatur lay in contemplacyon, sor wepynge for the peyne of her feet sche prayid to ower lorde for deliverance from this launde. And ower lorde seyde to her, “A, dowter, why wepest thou for the peyne of thy feet for thou knowst how soore my owene feet were woundid on mount calvarie? And therfor to bringe the to spiritual helth and contemplacioun I shal sende thee on a desperaat tryal and a terribil oon amonges devils and hir ministeres and necromanceres. For thou shalt fynde a tan volvo that schal be ful of clerkes and thes clerkes shall taak thee to the moost terribil place on al the erthe.” And the creatur seyde, “A, Lord, what ys this place so terribil?” And the lord seyde to her, “It is callid MLA.” And ther cam gret thundirkrakkys – thogh cleer was the daye – in the maner of a film of James Cameron.

And right so it befel in dede that a volvo did pulle up and a voys from it seyd, “You going to Philadelphia?” And thys creatur seyd, “I go to MLA,” and the voys seyde that MLA was part of Philadelphee and thus sche cam with hem. And in the volvo was a cumpany of thre yonge scolers, to wit I woman and II men. And thys creatur spak to them and seyd, “Tell me what maner ffolk ye aren.” And oon the men seyd, “My dissertation addresses the pressing question of the relation of the Owl and the Nightingale to the paradoxes of materiality and to changing ideas of spirituality at the same time that it questions what I would call outmoded models of allegoresis. Essentially, I propose that this heavily mediated text engages with debate poetry not as a generic exemplar but rather vis-a-vis an interstitial combination of truth claims and bestiary passages about cephalopods.” And thys creatur was soore confusid, and sche prayid to ower lord and wepid gret teares for the passioun of the child Jesu who had been born in a maunger to taak awey the synnes of all ffolke and also to deliver her from MLA. And alle the cumpany did wepe with her vntil the ladye who drof the van schouted at the oothirs and seyd, “Could you please be quiet? I’m trying to listen to the sparknotes for ‘Beloved.’” And thys creatur knewe litel of thes wyse clerkes wyth whom sche travilid and she askid what maner ffolk thei weren. Oon the men was named Genderstudyes and the othir man was named Medievaliste and the woman was named Americaniste-but-really-Faulknerstudyes. And thei were from Bigresearchuniversitee.

II

Than thys creatur and her felawshep cam to Philadelphee wher thys MLA did stonde. And Sir Genderstudyes seyd that al the cumpany scholde be herberwyd in I room togedyr and this creatur assentid for sche had but litel goold. And thei took hostelrie at a gret paleys called the Merry Ott and thys creatur seyde, “Forsooth thys name ys contrarie to the wordes of ower lorde for we oughten nat be merrye but rather we oughten be sadde for ower synnes.” And Sir Medievaliste seyde, “That’s pretty Robertsonian of you.” And thei cam to the room and sche had gret feere for her chastitee but eftsoon sche saw that the yonge clerkes cared oonlie for lamentaciouns and for gret studye of manye smal pieces of paper and the seyinge of preieres yn quiet voys and sumtyme gret wepynge.

Thys caytyf had ben in many cumpanyes and in all of hem sche had ben the moost ful of wepynge and sorwe. But amonges the thre yonge clerkes, and amonges the othir yonge scolers in the Merry Ott, sche felt lyk the oonly cristen soul whos puppy had not given up the goost the day bifor. Trewely, thes yonge folk wyth hir lamentaciouns and hir gret vigiles and fastinges did semyn to be trewely greved by the synnefulness of the world. And thys creatur tryed to cryen and wepen wyth sumwhat greter force and yet sche stil semed to be right joyeful in comparaisun to thes scolers.

And thys creatur had grete wondir at the holiness of thes yonge clerkes, for thei weren nat full of pryde and vanitee as were the friares and bishoppes yn Engelonde who lyved in ese and wyth pleasaunce. And sche wondrid that Ower Lord had in his revelacyons to her seyde that MLA was a desperaat and terribil tryal, for to her it semed the oonlie place on erthe sche felt at hoom. And sche seyde to Ower Lord, “A, Lord, wherfor sholde I feere thes folke? For thei aren lyk the harlem globetrotteres of self-mortificacioun.” And Ower Lord seyde, “A, dowter, ask thes folke to what seyntes thei prayen and thou shalt see.”

Than sche askid the clerkes to which seyntes thei prayid, and nat oon seyde a holy cristen seynt. For sum seyd thei prayid to Seynt Agamben, and sum to Seynt Schischek, sum to Seynt Foucauld and sum to Seyntes Deleuse & Wauttaure, and sum to Seyntes Jamison and Egleton and eek sum to Seynt Blume. And lo thys creatur had gret feere and terror for thes weren nat holy cristen seyntes. Hir names weren al straunge and were nat writ in ony legendes of seyntez and thus thei weren assuredly the names of devylles and feendes of helle. And thes clerkes seyd thes devils gave hem grete powers for to undirstonden textes and to gloss hem, and also gave hem poweres to deconstructen thinges and to unpacken thinges and to see the privee menynges of wordes. Than the creatur knewe that al the semynge holiness of thes yonge clerkes was but devocioun to ower goostly enemy, and hir gret piles of papir were but devylles writtes and hir gret tomes weren but grimoyrez and bokes of necromancie. She tok hede to listen to the murmuringez of the clerkes, and thei al spak of “My dissertation addresses the pressing question of...” the which ys nat a prayer but an incantacioun. And than she fled doun-stayres to get a frappucino for she was so soore adraad so sche cam to the elevatours.

III

And yit thys creatur got out at the wronge floore for sche had so much drede, and sche found herself in an halle of the same lengthe and breadth as the halle aboue wher the room of her cumpanye was. And ther thys creatur saw II men clad in clokes, and oon wyth a laurer wreath vpon his heed wyth a mighti grand nose. And the othir did shimmer lyk vnto the proiection of Obi-Wan Kenobi that out of RII-DII’s holographick projector y-came – for it semed hys body was goostli. And thogh thes men spak nat on Englysche, Ower Lord gave her grace to undirstodyn hem. And yet thogh sche herd hir wordes, thei made but litel sense.

(he wyth the nose and laurer wreeth spak):

O great Mantuan, you who lead me through
This hosteltry of madness, at your will,
Do tell me what transgression these souls made

To be so foully ensepulchred here
Among such reams of paper and such cries-
Do we draw near to hell’s frost-covered core?”

(he who did flicker lyk a flourescent light yn the bathroom of a nightclubbe spak):

O Tuscan, at the gates of Albuquerque,
We should have leftwards turned our path, for see:
This is not that despairing pit we seek,

Only its earthly image, where the faction
Of those with suits and snappy colon titles
Comes to seek reward at price. Let’s go

And get some water-ice before we leave,
For in the miserable place we seek
The only snack is Ruggieri’s head,

And I could use a nosh.”

And as thys creatur stood in gret mervayle at thes men sche saw nat that a door had opened behind her. And a man yn a navy blue suit cam out of the door and addressid the creatur, saying, “Are you the twelve thirty?”

And the creatur seyd to hym, “Sir, I am afreyd of the folk heere and I prey yow nat be desplesyd yf I ask yow to take me into secrecee and safetee from the many cruel folke and necromanceres who are heere.”

And he laughed, “That’s one way of putting it. Please, come in.”

Than in the room thys creatur saw the two felawes of that man, and the man bad her sit vpon a smal chayre while he and the oothirs sat vpon a bed. And sche bigan again to be soore adrad, for thei also had many paperes and portfolios and semed to be necromanceres and clerkes of derke knowlech. And it semed thei wolde interviewyn her, and sche was basicallye freakinge out and hyperventilatinge. Owr mercyful Lord, spekyng in hir mind, blamyd hir of hyr fear, seying, "Why dredist the? Why art thu so aferd? I am as myghty her at MLA as in the paleys of a Bishoppe or in the land of Judee. Why wilt thou mistrustyn me? Suffyr paciently a while and have trost in my mercy. Wavyr nowt in thy feith and answir all questions quicklye and honestli and make sure to emphasyze thy research.”

And the man in the suit put doun hys papirs and portfolios and seyd, “I’m very sorry, but we seem to have misplaced your CV. Could you please refresh us on your name?”

“I am a wrecchid synnere and a pore caytyf who seekes God. And for that sum call me a lollard and a heretik.”

“Okay Ms. Anda-Heretic. We were all very interested in your work; really, it’s very affecting. Could you tell us a little about your future plans?”

“I schal spekyn of God and chastise folk that sweryn gret oathes whersoevyr I go unto the tyme that the pope and holy chirche hath ordeynde that no man schal be so hardy to spekyn of God.”

And oon of the mannes felawes than seyd, “So you work on control of speech in religious discourse?”

“I praye that Ower Lord Jesu may grant me the grace of undirstondynge yower discourse, madam. And eek I wepe for synnes, rathir a lot of wepyng for ther are rathir a lot of synnes.”

“Okay. Well, could you describe for us your teaching style? How would you, say, teach a lesson about this religious discourse your project deals with?”

"I preche not, ser, I come in no pulpytt. I use but communicacion and good wordes, and that wil I do while I live."

“That’s great. It sounds very student-centered. Now, as you know, research is very important in this department. Do you have any plans for publication?”

“Sir, unworthy creatur thogh I am, I was oones charged that I schuld don wryten my felyngys and revelacyons, so that the goodnesse of Ower Lord might be knowyn to alle the world. And so I had it wryten doun by a man from Dewtchland and then a preest put it into Englysshe.”

“A book, really? You've got a book already?"

"Two, in feyth, sir."

"Well, that’s very impressive. Look, I know this isn’t supposed to be done, but I think I speak for all of the committee when we say that we’re very interested in your application. But we’ve had problems in the past when candidates couldn’t -- well, you know, they couldn't make their personal lives really fit with their plans. Now, you don’t have to answer this, but – what is your family situation?”

“I have a good man, a burgeys of the town of Lynne, to myn husbond.”

“Oh, overseas. That's - unfortunate. Do you think that will be a problem, you know, bringing him over?”

"I prey yow, ser, put me not among men, that I may kepyn my chastité. Myn husbond gaf me leve wyth hys owyn mowthe that I schold goon on pilgrimage and livyn out of hys presence."

“Well, Ms. Anda-Heretic...may I call you Alollard? I know this is quick, but I’d like to extend the invitation of a campus visit. You sound exactly like the kind of candidate we could do with at....”

And thus thys creatur now dwelleth at a universitee wher she giveth instruccion in the wayes of Ower Lord and sche ys called assistante professour. Her studentz drawen much edificacioun from her wepynge and her research assignmentz. And sche praiseth Ower Lord everich daie for he did deliver her from the necromanceres and the sorwe at the hostelrye of the Merry Ott and the derke rite of MLA, in the maner that he deliverid Danihel from the Liones Den and Jonah from the Whale and Sir Neville de Flynn from the Serpentes on a Shippe. And thos of the universitee scholde knowe that thys short tretys counteth as a publicacioun towardes tenure for it was blinde-peer-reviewede by II hooly eremites. Worschepyd be God. Amen.

Christmas message from Kynge Richard (relayed by Sir John Mandeville)

2006-12-25T21:06:00.000Z

Benedicitee, good readeres alle! Sir John Mandeville heere agayn, beseeching yow of yowre forgivenesse, as I have nat posted no thyng for many a daye.

O, gentils, yt hath been a long monthe or so. After I was in Whitby on the kinges privee businesse I was y-called north into Scottelond for to deliver a secree diplomatic bagge unto on of kynge Richardes operatives. Thys operacioun was much en secret, and fro New Castle unto the Scottish Sea and til myn retourn ynto Carlisle I was sworn to verray silence.

Nathelesse, I have retourned fro beyond the borders of Yngelonde, and I am now in Grassington, a smal toun in Yorkshirre, a moost pleasaunt litel toun yn whych to celebrate our hooly saviour's birth. Grassington hath a moost charmaunt lytel Christmas fair, at whych place I bought a handy compas and some tall bootes.

And I certaynly neede bootes. What I was in Scotteland Englelonde received muchel rain, so much so that woodpyles the kyngedom over became sothly soaked, and there be but lytel dry wood to burn. The Englyssh people beeth nat happy, and verray cold.

Thysse being Christmas, Kynge Richard addressed the kyngedom, hys royal address being delivered unto every shires ende by his cryers, oon of whom came unto Grassington. The rayn lette uppe two dayes ago (angels of grace be thonked!), so I was oute-syde, shewing a tapster I have be-frynded the use of the compas when the cryer y-came into toun. Promptly he shewed to alle of us there assembled a true and verray ymage of Kynge Richard--but Kynge Richard was depicted some mannere of odd doublet all y-made and y-stuffed wyth wool, and he was wearing lytel mittens two.

"Heere ye, heere ye," sayde the cryer. "Thys is the true and verray ymage of your kynge, Richard, secound since the conquest!" And the following be hys wordes, as far as I can recall:

RICHARD, by the grace of God of Engelonde and Fraunce kynge, prince of Wales, and lord of Ireland, to alle, greetynges. Faythful lieges, I knowe thatte we have been tested by our lorde God in heaven as of late--the greet raynes, and the lakke of fire-wood, the wych is winteres fuel. Until yowr stores of woode have dried outte I beseech yow alle to emulate me, to weare the thickestte and moost warme doublets and smockes that yow have and to ration whatte wood yow have. Eeche of us can do a parte for the kingedomes good through conservacioun.

I knowe that there beeth unrest yn the kingdom. Myne reportours fro alle the shires end have y-told me so. The people are coold, they saye, and yowre kynge hath heard yow. Be nat afrayd namoore.

Litle by litle we can and we moost rebuild our confidence. We can spend until we empty our cofres, and we may summon all the powre of our armies. But we can succeed only if we tap our greatest resources -- Engelondes people, Engelondes values, and Engelondes confidence. Feere nat, stay hoome, and dress warmly. Happy Christmas from yowre kynge, Richard, atte Eltham.

This was nat exactly whatte we wanted to heere, but we beeth loyal to oure kynge, and we dyde nat burn no woode thys evening. Instead we uncorked the laste of the summer wyne and made mury as best we could.

Happy Christmas alle, and to bed wyth me.

Of notice: my musique

2006-12-17T18:31:00.000Z

Miss nat "Chaucer Weekend" on BBC radio thre on the twenty-thridde and twenty-fourthe dayes of December. Thei shal be playinge al of my fauorite tunez (thogh ich doute that thei shal playe the more recent musique in myn sidebar y-listed).

Boastinge of my rymes hath yiven me trouble bi for...

2006-12-02T21:10:00.000Z

Noon othir than Baba Brinkman hath taken me to task in a maner that maketh Johannes Gower seme a smal fluffy bunny. Update: See the commentes to this poost for to lerne that we haue maad pees and are sworn brothirs. Yif pees could be as esily y-maad bitwene Engelonde and Fraunce, muchel joye wolde be broughte vnto the worlde. Swich pees and brothirhede ys a fayre thynge in thys seson of holydayes.

no japery todaye

2006-12-01T16:46:00.000Z

sicut enim corpus sine spiritu emortuum est, ita et fides sine operibus mortua est

Agayns this horrible synne of Accidie*...ther is a vertu that is called fortitudo or strengthe, that is an affecioun thurgh which a man despiseth anoyouse thynges.

This vertu hath manye speces; and the firste is cleped magnanimitee, that is to seyn, greet corage. For certes, ther bihoveth greet corage agains Accidie, lest that it ne swolwe the soule by the synne of sorwe, or destroye it by wanhope. This vertu maketh folk for to undertake harde thynges and grevouse thynges by hir owene wil, wisely and resonably. And for as much as the devel fighteth agayns a man moore by queyntise and by sleighte than by strengthe, therfore men shal withstonden hym by wit and by resoun and by discrecioun.

* - Accidia, the mortal sin the which signifieth slownesse to act and hopelessness - sum tyme on Englisshe it ys ycleped 'Sloth,' yet it nis nat mere laziness of body but a couch-potato-ness of soule.

What is this Amerique?

2006-11-29T17:41:00.000Z

What American accent do you have? Your Result: The Inland North You may think you speak "Standard English straight out of the dictionary" but when you step away from the Great Lakes you get asked annoying questions like "Are you from Wisconsin?" or "Are you from Chicago?" Chances are you call carbonated drinks "pop."
The Northeast
Philadelphia
The Midland
The South
Boston
North Central
The West
What American accent do you have? Take More Quizzes

Parlement Journale, Digressioun: Bookmania!

2006-11-23T06:51:00.000Z

Geoffrey heere. Many aventures haue me befallen sithen ich haue elected ben to speken at parlement for the sake of the realm, and eek ther ys much for me to tellen yow of, my goode rederes, but for nowe ich wolde speke of sum thyng yet more paisable and swete: buyinge hell of newe readyng material!

By seynt Jerome, gentil folk, ich nede no Philobiblon of Richard de Bury to instructe me of the grete power and vertu and joie that is to be found in bokes. As messire John of Gaunt loueth women, so ich loue bokes: without limit or discriminacioun, ich loue hem oolde and newe, short and longe, frensshe or latin or on englysshe tonge, of heigh sentence or of lowe japerye, from the smalest leef of parchemin to the gretest volume clad in blak or reed wyth commentarye and big honkinge metal claspes for fasteninge it shut.

Thogh the pees of Kent pleseth me much, yt is right hard to fynde goode bokes ther, so as ich make my stay in Londoun for Parlement, ich haue been going crazy about the purchasyng of bokes. Euery daye ich visit the scriveneres for to see the newe bokes and maken requestes for copyes. My shire doth paye me IV shillinges for ech daye ich am in parlement, and by cause of al the monkey business of this straunge parlement yt is lastinge longer than a voyage to Spayne. By cause ich lodge myself with my frende Langeland, ich spende but iii pens for a capon ech daye (and a somedeel greter amount for ale, wyn, and batidas), and thus a gret surplusage of cash moneye remaineth for the acquiringe of bokes.

Sikerly it taketh nat a wise philosopher to reken that the rederes of my blog peraventure wolde wisshe to knowe of the bokes ich haue picked up or planne to buye, so heere ich shal liste sum notable ensaumples of my haul of ink and wordes:

--

Battlestar Ecclesiastica
by Johannes Wycliffe

In this boke of science ficcion, a man ycleped Wycliffe is the bishop of the gret chirche of Seynt Paules, the which is lyk vnto a mighty shippe and kan moue thurgh the voyde of the planetes. Al othir chirches on the earth haue ben destroyed by the deuil and his feendes, who haue taken on the visages of men and look exactlie lyk friares. Ther is a mighti ladye of feyth called Margery Starbaxter, who ys a loyal warryour for the chirche and sleyeth the friares. And eek ther ys a traytour named Belshazzar who doth see visions of a sexie friar yn his heed who telleth hym to betraye the goode folke of Seynt Paules. Sum oon nedeth to jump on this sucker and turne hit in to a series of television.

--

The Harley Lyrics
by Anonymous

Oon of anonymouses bettir workes, thes poemes are ycopyed fresshe from a manuscript contaynyge many othir thinges. Thei are songes of loue both goostly and bodili, and oft speke of a knightes loue for his horse, the which he calleth hys ‘motourbyk,’ the which he “liveth to riden, and rideth to liven,” or othertimes thei speke of a knightes affecioun for his ‘chopper’ (his axe?) or his ‘hogge’ (why raiseth a knight pigges?) or his “mama” (gentil remembraunce of oones mothir ys fayre and chivalrous). Heere ys oon ensaumple of this straunge but plesaunte verse:

"Maketh motor for to runne
Shoopen vs to to heigh-waye
No aventure shal we shunne
In what-evir cometh ower waye

Yn the smok and lightening
Blastes of hevy metal
Wyth the wind goon racing-
The felinge is so goode

An hendy happe ichabbe hent,
From nature pure we aren sent
Vndyinge we kan make ascent
For borne we are to wexen woode

BOOOOOORNE TO WAXEN WOODE (refrain repeateth)"

--

The Doctours: The C and I Moost Dangerous Scholastic Thinkers in Europe
by Archbishop Thomas Arundel

This boke pointeth out the dangerous doctrine of many of the doctors of theologie and maysters of the artes who teche yn the universitees and scoles. For many of hem, thys boke telleth me, teche nat simply the dogma of the chirche but also injecte heretical doctrine from auncient philosophres and thus pose a grete threte to ower future ecclesiastical administrators and preestes. The worste by far ys Thomas Aquinas, who hath argued from Aristoteles principle of the first entelechy that the forme of the soule containeth the sensitif and vegitatif soules, in contradiccioun of the gret tradiciouns of the chirche. Ich drede what shall come to pass yf thes techinges are allowed to poyson the mindes of goode cristen folke.

--

Piers Plowman: The I-Text
by William Langelande

This boke confuseth me, by Seynt Charles Borromeo, so ich do copye the text from the back of the avertisement:

“Ye gentil folke haue rede the compact A-Text, haue thrillede to the cliff-hanger endinge of the B-Text, and haue enjoyed the occasional addiciouns and politicallie prudente modificaciouns of the C-Text; if ye haue got Piers-fevere lyk we do, ye haue probablie even hunted the bootleg market for the fabled Z-Text. NOW PREPARE YOWERSELVES TO EXPERIENCE THE EPIC TALE OF PIERS THE PLOWMAN YET AGAIN IN A RELATIVELY NEWE WAY. The I-Text of Piers Plowman ys available on the I-Bokes web-syte – ye kan download a passus for a mere XCIX pens and carrye the boke around on yower I-Pamphlet for esy readynge whil in parlement, while sayinge matins, or just when sloshinge around the feelde yn the bitre cold. Ech I-Text passus featureth even more intricate changes to the texte – who will establish the power of the king in the prologue of this versioun? How will the elaborate grammatical metaphor get even more complicatede? Don't miss Passus V: the I-Text version includeth an expanded apologia pro vita sua the which narrateth Willes earlier experiences as a clerke in a department store and hys misshaps in the datinge world of 1360s Londoun. HOW CAN YOU RESIST THIS AMAZING AND CONVENIENT WAY OF SEEING THIS ACTION-PACKED CLASSIC IN YET ANOTHER SLIGHTLY DIFFERENT FORM? Go to the I-Bokes web syte and download the Piers Plowman I-Text today. legal information: the ink vsid alloweth you to make but V copyes of the poeme in to yower owen household boke or pamphlet and doth nat permit excerpts or trademarked character names to be included in rebellious letteres. eny sign of tresoun shal be punisshed wyth death. only compatible wyth I-Bokes and I-Pamphlet, and euen in that situacioun sum tymes yt doth nat werke for sum reason

--

The VII Habits of Heighly Effective Hangers-on
by Thomas Vsk, Serjeant-at-Armes for his Trespuissant Majestee Richard Kyng of Engelonde

Sithen ich haue just spoken of oon of my frendes bokes, yt semeth proper to maken mencioun of the othir. This litel volume is in no wise semblable to Vskes earlier Testament of Loue, but rather yt is a pamphlet of “helpe-thi-self,” that telleth how to survyve in Londoun factional politics. Vskes maner of late doth bringe me grete unease; mesemeth he hath grown too grete for hys britches. But yet to return to the matter of hys boke, he maketh seven poyntes of conseil, the which ich shall liste for yow heere:

"I. Be Proactif at Changing Alliaunces
II. Yet Begin Thy Werkes Wyth Thine Eternal Ende (RESPECT!) in Thy Minde
III. Paye Heed to First Thinges: Who Kan Yive Thee Bettir Livery?
IV. Think Winne/Winne: Thou Shalt Winne Honour, and Thyne Former Allies Shal Winne Exile
V. Seek First to Vndirstond the Factional Situation, & Aftir Make Thy Loyaltee Vndirstood to Thy Sovereign Lord Kyng Richard
VI. Synergize Boethius and Love Allegory and Sum Thyng About a Knot into a Literary Werke Proclaymynge Thy Trewe and Honorable Nature
VII. Drop Names of Famous Writers Whom Thou Knowst As Often As Possible (for as Geoffrey Chaucer the gret poete and my faste and loial freende hath seyde: “For may no man fordon the law of kynde”)"

--

The Stoner Letters
Compiled from the collecioun of the Stoner Family

Ich am crazie about readynge of the histories of families and specially in hire owen wordes. This boke doth collect the writinges of many generaciouns of good gentry folke in the shire of Oxford, hire letters and hire bokes of accountes and charteres. Oon the straungest thinges of families ys the similaritee shared by parents and childer. For the Stoner family semeth consistentli to seke certayn items. To wit:

1290 Accounte of Household Expenses of Richard de Stoner:
“X poundes for potato crispes
III poundes II shillinges for poster wyth a wizard and sum skeletons that sheweth well and fayre vndir black-light
IV poundes X shillinges III pens for a balle for to pleyen hackey-sack
II shillinges paid to Harold Chillouttent esquire for restraininge of John Stoner who kynde of freaked out a litel”

1380 Edmund de Stoner to John Bounge, Grocer of Londoun
“Dude, please sende lyk a wagon full of potato crispes for the munchies soore possess me. And eek plese sende newe bulbes for the black light - ich kan scarce see the orange dragon that decorateth the basement. Of gretest importaunce, telle my servaunt to return right quick, for Elisabeth hath gone oon toke ovir the lyne and hath just now lokked hirself in the tower for feare that all folk aren set ayeinst her. My servaunt kan fynde me outside of the tower - probabli I wil be lyk playinge hackey-sacke or just chillaxinge.”

...trewely, kinship runneth deepe and strong in the Stoner blood!

--

And eek, ich did discover a charminge boke by a man of grete wit who konneth much of lettrure, ywis he beth an arbiter elegantiarum for ower age: oon Lord Whimsy. He hath written a volume ycleped The Affected Provinciales Companioun. By the grace of Lady Fortune, ich did meet wyth Lord Whimsy yn Londoun, and he did answeren several questions of interviewe for me, the which ich shall pooste eftsoon, oones my tales of parlement are done.

O wey-la-wey! Spekynge of parlement, ich must soon go to meet wyth the communes, and thus ich must stop thys pooste. Thogh this be but a smal liste of bokes, peravanture yt yiveth yow a samplinge of the manye deliteful purchases ich haue in Londoun y-maad. And now, ich am off to grabbe yet oon more book bifor ich muste return to the stinkinge busynesse of debaat and politickinge. Peraventure ich shal see yf the new David Eggers beth as objectionable as hits premise maketh it to seme...

Sir John in Whitby

2006-11-18T22:47:00.000Z

O, creuel fate! Whan laste I posted heere I was y-deep in love, as I pray yow gentils well remembre. Allas, I have y-lost myne hertes love, the faire Kayleigh! Whan I retourned to Londoun I despatched to her a token of myne affecioun--a dozen boxes of fisshe fingers and half of a stagges corpse. (Thankes to Katherine de Swineford for thisse advice!) Ymagine myne surprise whan I was y-told by myne messanger that she is already y-wedded! It seemeth that her housbond y-was in Margate for the nyght and that the fair Kayleigh y-was untrewe to hym and me! She did nat retourn the fisshe fingers or stagges corpse, neither. Woe, woe unto me! The search for a bride, it beginneth anew.

Thus have I yspent much of Novembre in love-longyng, but now I am agayn on the kinges priveee businesse, in York-shirre. I confess, before two dayes ago I had nat ventured north of Stoke (and then only to go to Alton Towers), but I lyke it heere. There y-been muchel good seafood, and the comouns of Whitby are ryght polite, albeit that they y-weare muchel blakke.

I am y-lodgyng at the abbey, the whych place ys verray draughty, but I kepe warme ynough. This business of the kynges is such that I schal likely be heere in York-shirre until the nexte yeere, but that ys all ryght: I may make some day-trippes. I have been y-told of a carpentere who ys a man in the forme of a mouse in a village nat too far awaye, and I must go and see that wondere with myne owne eyes! Whan I do I schal y-telle yow of yt.

Ugh. It beeth late in the nyght, and I must retire to bedde. Good nyght, lordes and ladyes all, and I schal telle yow all more of York-shirre soone.

Sir John in Folkestone

2006-11-01T01:07:00.000Z

Benedicitee, goode readers alle! Sir John heere agayn, bidding yow sad greetinges from Folkestone.

Whan last I posted I was en route to Dungeness, there to ascertayn yf a breaded concocioun of cheese y-hadde uppon its selfe an ymage of our late kyng, Edward the Secounde. Sothliche, gentils, yt was nat so. Uppon closer inspecioun it semed me that this breaded snakke bore the ymage nat of Edward the Secounde but of Henry of Lancastre, the thirde earle of Lancastre, and thus it dyd nat merit inclusioun in our lorde the kynges compilacioun of the wonderes and miracles of hys greet-grandsire.

Also whilst in Dungeness I met a fair gentil yclept Derek who is deepe in studye of the lyf and werkes of Edward the Secounde, and he hath assured me that he ys labourynge to make a certayne thynge—a performaunce, methinketh—in honour of the memorie of that sayde kynge, the whych will honour his manliness and virtu. I schal be ryght glad to report thatte to oure kynge, and I was muchel plesed to maken acquayntaunce of thys foresayd gentilhomme.

But there I was, good readers alle, with yet another day before I had to be back in Londoun (I there am nat due until tomorrowes eve). So I thoughte backe to whan I hadde but xv winteres age, whan first I went fro St Albans to the see. I went to Folkestone, and there saw I the schore of Fraunce and passed thatte see, only now to retourn. So I thoughte it ryght gode sport to revisit Folkestone before retourning to London.

I arrived in Folkestone thys evening, and I toke lodging at an inne near the cite centre. But just as I was setting outte from thatte inne to fynde diner (I was y-seeking a Petit Chef; theyre food sitteth juste ryghte with thys traveler) I sawe a greet wonder, the whych I schal share wyth yow.

Yt was at nyghtfalle that I stepped fro myne inne, and I saw onne the hygh street a greet diversitee of lytel chyldren—or lytel feendes, I scholde saye! “What manere of children are these?” asked I to no-one in particuleer. Thanne a lytel chyld in the foule visage of a devil y-walked uppe to me.

“Trick ‘n treat,” sayde the lytel devil.

“Whatte?” sayde I. “I am a knyght, thought that I am unworthy, and I wolde nevere trick any gentil, nat even a devil. And whatte wolde yow have me trete?”

“I wan' candy!” shouted the lytel feendish imp. “Candy!” And than dyd the drasty lytel thynge begynne to pryck at myne legges wyth hys lytel deviles speere, the whych was more hurteful than I hadde thought possible.

But then, goode readers, a visioun of greet beautee y-stepped from the thronge, there to save me fro the unkynde proddynges of the devil. Oh, readers, she was radiant and ypassed all her kynde in lovelinesse. She wore a coroun of red gold atop her fayre, yelew hair, and uppon her shyrt were the wordes "Council Flat Princess". Ay, thought I, thys ys a princess indeed!

“Damien,” quod she, “stop it! Wot ‘ave I told you ‘bout poking people? We’ll go straight back ‘ome!”

“Nay, nay, goode madame,” quod I. “Youre lytle sonne, thought that he ys ful unwholesomely y-dressed, myght make a ryght gode and gentil knyght one daye. He hath, uh, spiryt.”

Then ynto conversacioun with this gode woman felle I, and I learned that Kayleigh (for thatte ys her name, and a ful beauteous one ate thatte, mayhap out of the Yrysshe langage) spendeth her tyme in meditacioun of thynges astrologickal. Wel it pleaseth me that wommen nowadayes are learnynge of the sciences and the artes. Ne never thought me that wommen ne coulde nat of those thynges. Dyd nat God create man and womman, the verray two, togedir t’erth to rewle? So semeth it me, any-way. She told me muchel about my signe, and sayde that fate us togethre threw!

So Kayleigh and I y-toke her lytle child, Damien, to a place yclept the Leisure Centre, whar he was to yspende the eve with other lytel ghouls and goblins. Thys ys a newe custome to me, thys All Hallowes Eve, when gentils neer and fare y-dress lyke unto straunge and churlish thynges. Thys pleaseth me also; next yeere I schal be a Cynocephalus.

Any-way, we went us two to a local publick house, and there Kayleigh hadde the “wyne speciale”, the whych thynge was many large glasses of white wyne, the whych were on speciale sale to those in costumes. We passed muchel of the eve in thys manere, drynkynge oure wine and conversynge.

“So, wot are you—really?” asked Kayleigh after we hadde had muchel of the rede and of the whyte.

“Ich am a knyghte of St Albans,” quod I.

“And I’m a princess, tee hee,” quod she.

“I knew yt!” quod I. “I knew of your grace and gentilesse! O, your merciless beautee! Would yow take on thys humble knight as your humble suitor, pryncess fair?”

“You can walk me back to my flat,” she saide.

O, readers! If only I knewe what tristesse was to yfalle! No sooner hadde we but exited the publick house than I knewe that thys fair maybe had ydronken of the wyne overmuch—she was dronke! And I was a bit buzzynge, I do admyt, but I am a kyght, and the holdynge of our wyne is part of kynghtly trayninge.

But verily, I did walk the fair Kayleigh to her flatte, the whych place I was able to locate by going through the ladyes hande-bag, which contained that informacioun. Finally we arrived there, Kayleigh stumblyng and belching. “Fayre Kayleigh,” quod I, “are yow aryght? I am muchel distourbed and trowbled, and heavey in herte. Kayleigh,” I sayde, “are yow aryght?”

Atte thys her stomack yrupted ful horribly all over myne doublet. The wyne yt was nat so speciale then.

I putte Kayleigh to bedde in her flatte, and than rushed I outsyde, there to divest me of myne doublet, thatte thynge to wasshe (leste yt stayne), but yn the doing I lette the door to the flatte blow shutte, with the fayre Kayleigh and here hand-bag and keyes ynside! O creuel fate! O creuel destinee! I have come back to myne inne to aske if anyone knows of this fair princesse, but no one knows, and all and sundry calleth me dronke. O! Tomorrow muste I retourn to London, at our kinges commaund! Kynge and parlement beckon! But whatte of the fayre Kayleigh? Gentils, gentils, whatte am I to do?

UPDATE: O, creuel, creuel fate. I have just done a Love Test and ylearned this:

LoveTest Question Analysis
*****************************************************************

Kayleigh Is Your Perfect Soulmate, Sir John!

To have the best possible relationship with your dream date,
you need a lot of quality time to communicate. Also make
sure that you ask the right questions right from the start
in order to avoid problems and misunderstandings later on.

How, O how can we communicate yf I am in London and away on the kynges privee businesse? O, she ys myne soules mate! Creuel, creuel, love!

Parlement Journale, Part the Seconde: A Vision!

2006-10-31T05:57:00.000Z

God shilde us fro meschaunce! Whanne ich last had tyme and space to enditen of my aventures at parliament, ich hadde ben tricked by Griselda Mars yn to handynge ovir the talkinge poyntes of the kinges loyal men. Ich lerned this just as ich had to goon wyth the othir communes to the chaptir hous in the Abbeye of Wesminstre, the which ys the place allotted for the communes, for ower smell pleseth nat the lordes in the Palais.

Whanne ich entred the chaptir hous, ich sawe al the communes, the gode knightes and burgeses and men of wit and lerninge who had com to speke for their shires and citeez. And sum ich sawe ther were kinge richardes men who had ben at the benefit dinner the night bifor – mesemede thei suffred gret unese, for all ower talkinge poyntez had ben disclosid.

Vp roos thanne a knight that was helde wys, by leve and by conseil of othir that were ther, and seide: “May the Lord blesse vs all! Gentils, ye all haue heard how Chancellor de la Pole hath tolde vs a tale of the causes of this parliament, how he hath seyde that ower lord the King nedeth gret amountes of cash and taxacioun for his werres.”

“Yay!” ich roos vp thanne and spoke with noble steven, “For the Reaume mesemeth is in gret peril from the malicious Frensshe, in greter peril than evir bifor. For a Frensshe flete hath ygadrid to make invasioun vpon ower lande. Gret peril! We must all drede the peril! For the Frensshe shal turn al of our filmes in to non-linear meditaciouns vpon lyf and deeth both insouciant and melancolie. And eek thei shal destroyen...”

“Namoore of this, for Goddes dignitee,” quod the knight, “What maner doofus artow, that thou rehersest the talkinge poyntez of the kinge? For thei haue all been addressid and defeatid. Ay, the Frensshe do seeke to make werre vpon vs, but the moost freshe newes saith that their fleet is all kindes of disorganized and bad wedir hath y-messed-vp ther shippes. No attack loometh as yet. As for the threte thei pose to ower cinema, ich wolde thinke that ‘Love Actually’ doth prove that ower cinema is a threte vnto itself.”

And ther was muchel laughter. And the men of king richardes faction did glare me-vpon as if to seye ‘do nat make thinges worse for vs.’

And the knightes speche continued: “And thogh the threte from the Frensshe remaineth, even thogh ther flete cometh nat soon, yet ther is a greter threte: for we knowe that the houshold of the kinge is full of fooles and liares who take the money of taxacioun and spende it to ther owen avantage. Nat oon grot that is y-gadrid gooth to the defens the reaume, only to the vainglorie of the kinges false freendes. Michel de la Pole buyeth much land wyth money he hath from the king y-stole. And what man kan speke fully of the surquiderie and ill conduct of Robert de Vere, whom the king hath - in blindnesse of this mannes baseness - raysed to the ranke of Duk of Ireland. Ay, this fals de Vere who hath yiven up hys lawful wyf to gallivant about wyth Parys Launcecrona. And thuswise the hard-erned goodes of ower constituents go to buye mower bottles of Kristal for Launcerona and de Vere's table. The luxuries of thes false men do stryke the kingdom wyth horrible woundes. Certes, good sires, in no maner shal the Frensshe werre be broghte to good conclusion vntil the houshold of the kinge be broghte to good order. What say ye?”

And al assentid wyth oon voys.

Wel, almost al. The kinges faction did slip out stelthily lyk vnto the audience of a conference panel whan the wyne hour hath alreadye started. And yet ich moved nat to go wyth hem, for it semed that the knight spak trewthe, thogh it semed lyk tresoun.

And at that verye moment, ich felle doun in a swoon. (Ich haue been falling y-doun into swoones pretty much on a dailye basis evir syn ich haue been slepinge in William Langelandes gest-room and etinge hys food – methinketh the meales in his hous are full of pejote and valium. The man hymself ys basicallye a narcoleptique).

...

In my swoone thus, ich dremte that ich was yn a feelde wyth singinge briddes in the trees and a river cler as crystal. And ner my feete were V smal figures. Thei were made in the forme of liouns: and oon was azur, an othir was as grene as the feelde. The thridde was as red as blod, and the ferthe was yelwe lyk the blosmes of the dandelion. The Vthe smal figur of a lion was blakke as the night. And ich picked up the liouns, and niste what thei ment or who had mad them, or why thei were in the grasse in my allegorical landscape. Ther was also a smal perle next to the liouns, but ich ignored it by cause ich figured som oon els was lookinge for it.

And thus ich wandrid holding the smal figures of the liouns, vntil ich cam to a man who was clothed al in blak. And he seyde to me, “Gode sone, what cariestow in thy hondes?” And ich seyde, “Smal figures of liounes.” And he seyde, “How many?” And ich seyde, “Fyve.” And he seyde, “Trewelye, my son, thes fyve liounes signifien thy fyve senses, which sholde telle thee wher thy trewe path lieth. For by sight thou knowst sum thing of the matir at hand, and eek by thy heringe, and folowingly thurgh touch, smel, and tastinge. But thou hast nat putte hem al togedir.”

And thanne ich knewe, for ich put the liounes togedir and thei formed the figure of a mighti knight and a wise, lyk vnto the knight who spak.

“Behold! Put al thy senses togedir and thou getest the figure of Voult-Roune, which bitokeneth 'turne in secret.' For my sone, thou must joyne wyth thes ffolke as thy fyve senses say. For thou seest wyth thyn eyen the sory state of the reaume, and thou herest wyth thyn heringe the wordes of this knight, and thou touchest the matir wyth thy minde. And thus...”

“What about smel and tastinge?”

“Sum tymes the allegory worketh nat out completely. Just listen to me, felawe, go wyth thy felinge. Dostow trust this knight and wisshe to helpe the communes ayeinst de la Pole?”

“I do!”

“Thou must speke wyth greter felinge, for I heere thee nat.”

“I do!”

“What?”

“I DO!”

...

At which I wook, and sawe the communes weren deep in debaat. And sum oon had at that moment asked the question, “Who will go wyth me to get the secret evidence ayeinst de la Pole?” And by cause ich had screamid “I do,” I was chosen for the job.

And thus ich was no lenger a trewe yes-man of the kinges faction, but a man who wolde folwe thes communes to remove de la Pole from offyce. And ich was scared that Tommy Vsk would at me be soore y-pissed.

Of what then happed, vpon the journey to fynde the evidence, ich shalle write soon.

And who was the man in blak, ye maye ask? Ich knowe nat, but it semed he stood within a burninge ringe of fyre.

this maketh me to seem ungentil and unkynde!

2006-10-28T00:49:00.000Z

Geoffrey heere. Ich hope ye gentil ffolke take gret solaas from my new contributour, Sir John Mandeville. It is a greet honour to haue swich a renouned compositor writinge for myn litel blogge.

Mower newes of parliament shal coom soon, ich promise yow by Seynt Espedito! It ys a straunge tyme - ich haue been shot at with arwes. Fret nat, for ich do lyue and am unharmed. And right nowe ich am windinge down at Langlandes hous by takinge a litel quiz. The resultes plese me nat. Cursed be thes quizzes and memes! Ich am a man of feythful herte, and nat slydynge of corage.

Read My Result
Take the Test

Ich nam nat random, and brutal ys a thing ich shalle nevir be. And the only magister amoris is the swete-tonged and sharp-witted Ovid Naso of the romanes, may Christ pitie his hethen soul.

Sir John Mandeville

2006-10-20T23:36:00.000Z

Benedicitee, good readers all!

Allow me to introduce myne-self. I am Sir John Mandeville, knyght, though that I unworthy am. Yow myght have read myne best-sellyng travelogue, The Travels of Sir John Mandeville (that is I!), the which recounts mine aventures beyond the see, whych first I passed whan I had but xv winteres age. Yt is nat overweening to claim that myne travelogue ys y-flying off the shelves; oonly our holy writ hath y-sold more copies, but (and I mene no disrespecte to the evangelistes!) holy writ hath not the chilles and spilles of myne travel boke.

So yow may be wonderynge, what is Sir John Mandeville, raconteur par excellence, best-sellynge travel writer, and gentilman aventurer, doing on this blogge? Scholde he nat be elleswhere, preparynge another bestsellyng volume of the wonders he hath y-seen? Or scholde he nat be away in the service of t'emperour Prester John or the sultan of Egypte? Be there nat some actes of derring-do with which Sir John must concern himselfe?

Nay, nay, good readeres, mine dayes of travel in the easte, they are y-done. After xxv yeeres in the orient I have retourned to Engelonde, to serve myne owne kyng and native countree. I am an Englishmanne, born and bred of St Albans, and I am ryght glad to be home agayn. Besides, the food abroad is nat very goode, and the privees on the continent been right drasty —in Fraunce they ne have ne seats, and in Allemagne there be verray shelves in the privees upon which one relieves oneself. What the helle is thatte aboute? Anyway, yt is good to be home agayn.

Whan that I returned from beyond the see I presented myselfe to the king’s pleasure att his court, and in his graciousness he hath retained me in his service. Thus I am the kinges gofer, with specialle charge to traverse the lengthe and breadthe of Engelonde collecting informacioun about our liege lord the kynges greet-grandsire, Kyng Edward the Secounde, the same kynge whom our lord Kinge Richard is beseeching our hooly father the pope in Rome to canonize. I have been in the kynges employ for but three dayes, and I have already two reports of myracles that I must investigate. So must I away to Kent and to Yorkshire to investigate these marvells, the which I schal share with yow, the gode readers of Maister Geoffrey Chauceres mooste excellent blogge.

But how, you ask, Sir John, do yow knowe our maister Geoffrey Chaucer? We have made acquaintance this verray month, in London, the which greet citee ys all abuzz at the sytting of parlement. Herk ye, and I schall relate the tale of how I met the good Chaucer.

--

I was walkyng around the Kinges Cross one evening, lookyng for a good tyme, whan that I saw a poster uppon a walle. "2d. all-yow-can-drynk at the Bell Tavern" it said. Gracious me, I thought! I have two pence! I am parched, verily! And ys nat wyne good for myne heart? Yt is what the sultanes physician y-told me in Babylon. Thys is a ryght blessed finding! And so I walked yn-to the Bell Tavern.

O, the chaos! O, the wylde turbulence! There I was the oonly gentil who hath more than xvi yeeres of age! Gangs of yowths were all besmotered with ale, and broken crispes were uppon the flore so that I ne could nat walk withouten makynge crunchynge noises! Natheless, I strode towards the bar, t'inquire of the 2d. special, when one of the yowths, all red and slurred of speche for drynkyng, yelled at me, "Wot you doing 'ere, grampa?" I looked round mine-self, seekyng some olde man. Litle dyd I know that he spoke of me, Sir John Mandeville hym-selfe! Dyd he nat knowe to whome he spake? "Surely yow meene nat I," quoth I. "I am Sir John Mandeville, knyght of Sainte Albans, best-sellying author of The Travels of John Mandeville."

"I've 'eard a that," quoth one of the yowths. "It is bollocks the lot of it. Ain't nuffink true about no dog 'eaded men or Prester John." "Yeah," quoth another. "Far as you've ever travelled is the library!" "O fals churls," said I, "yow knowe nat of what yow speke, and I have a mynde to teche yow some courtesie!" Atte this I recched for myne swerd, but atte this the yowths began to throw at me--Sir John Mandeville!--pint glasses, crips packets, and sundry botles empty and half-full.

O wretched yobbes and chavvs! Oon of the accursed yowths hyt me ryght above mine lefte eye-browe with a bottle of J2O, leaving quite the gash, and I was y-pelted wyth all other manere of bottles and rubbyshhe. Discretioun is the better part of valour some-tymes, and I supposed yt nat terribly chivalrous to sley teenagers, so I yelled at the yowths that I wolde prey for their soules as I betoke myself from thatte pub with some haste.

So thar I was, reekynge of apple-mango J2O, bleedynge from myne foreheed, pryde verray much injured. I espyed a pub across thatte same street, a darke little taverene yclept The Winchester. I walked in and satte at the bar.

"A, good sire," said a lytle man seated uppon a stool neare me, whose elfysshe presence I had noticed nat. "Yow looke lyke yow have seen better dayes."

I looked at the man--a man knowne well to readers heere!--and studyed his visage. Yow knowe hym welle; I need nat describe hym here save to maken mencioun that his woolen hatte was drypping wette. "Whatte happeend to youre hatte, good sire?" asked I.

"The chavs across the streete poured beere upon myne heed and made funne of myne weight," said he. "And now, I have namoore monie for to spend at the pub. I hadde but two pence for the whole of the nyght, the whych I have used heere. Allas and welaway! I am sytting in Kinge Richardes parlement, and I have already y-spent this weekes allowance buying olde bokes on the Charing Cross Road."

"King Richardes parlement?" quod I. "I am ryght new retained by hys majestie on his privee busynesse! I am a kynges man also!" We thus fell ynto talkynge, he and I, and I was moost happy to keep the ale y-flowynge. We talked of many a murie thynge long ynto the nyght. What became of thys talkynge? Muchel of our discussioun touched uppon matteres of wrytynge--of whych I schal nat bore yow heere--but I learned also of thisse blogge, the which the goode Chaucer hath invited me to poste from tyme to tyme as travel editour and raconteur-atte-large.

Well, I must away to Dungeness in Kent, there to see yf Edward II's face has appeared in a breaded snakke of grilled cheese. Stay tuned for myne updates about thatte mattere! Also stay tuned for myne exposee about a notorious and filthy liar whose verray soule is polluted with falsenesse and who in lyf was given to wilde exageraccioun--I mene Marco Polo, that wankere. Any-way, more aboutte that when I retourn from Kent.

A bientot,

Sir John

Parlement Journale, Parte the Firste: Decepcioun!

2006-10-05T05:54:00.000Z

O straunge worlde, for the dayes are fulle of selcouthes and no thyng is as it semeth. Alwey in my fantasie syn ich was a yonge man, ich thoghte Parlement to be a grete and noble assemblee, wher the wisdam of the reaume was spoken in the presence of oure sovereyn kynge for the sake of the commun good. But al thing in this worlde adoun is lyk vnto a cake fulle of beares– on the outsyde, it appeareth delicious and plesaunte, but inside yt is crawlinge wyth beestes that wisshe to clawe thee to deeth. For nowe ich see that Parlement is fulle of thretes and secretes, and matirs derke.

On Sundaye night, the daye bifor the grete openinge of parlement, ther was a speciale recepcioun for folk lyk myself who had come to parlement to speke for the shires. Yt was held in the halle of the exchequer, wyth the tables of rekynynges laden wyth metes and drinke. Michel de la Pole, the Earl of Suffolk and Chancellor of the reaume, frende of Kyng Richard, was ther, and he did shake the handes of al who were presente, and callid vs by oure names and bad vs drinken depe of the ale and maken murye. He yaf vs alle small billes, the whiche contayned the poyntez which we were to speken of for the good of the reaume, and he avised vs to keep the smalle billes secure.

The small billes were covered wyth thys text:

TALKYNGE POYNTEZ FOR PARLEMENT FOR THE LOIAL LIEGES OF KYNG RICHARD AND HYS CHANCELLOR MICHEL DE LA POLE
Whanne a felawe comoner of parlement or a cronicler or othir member of the media doth aske yow of the business of parlement, ye shal saye the following

I – THE REAUME IS IN GRETE PERIL FROM OURE GRETE ENEMYE FRAUNCE, IN GRETER PERIL THAN EVIR BIFOR
A. Frensshe flete has gadrid for to make invasion in ower lande
B. Frensshe shal turne alle of our filmes in to non-linear meditaciouns on lyf and deeth both insouciant and melancholie
C. Frensshe shal destroyen the Englisshe language and create a world maad only of voweles
D. Frensshe shal covir Engelonde wyth cafes wher yt costeth more to drinke coffee sittinge doun than standing up
E. If alle else faileth, repete “grete peril, grete peril” lyk vnto a psalme

II- OURE KYNG RICHARD TO PROVE HYS WORTH SHAL MAKE A GRETE EXPEDICIOUN OF ARMES OVIR THE SEE AYEINS THE FRENSSHE
And he shal do so for the followinge wyse and rightful causes:
A. We fare bettir to fighten the enemye acrosse the see than heere in owere owene lande
B. The kinge is mighti and fullye committede to the governement of his reaume and ys not a “wussy” as sum sclanderers haue seyde
C. Yt is right and proper to pursue the kynges clayme to the crowne of Fraunce
D. We muste winne honour
E. the werre has nat even lastede C yeres yet - it is too soon to throwe in the towele
F. If alle else faileth, repete “winne honour, winne honor” lyk vnto a psalme

III- AND THUS WE NEDE AIDE SUFFICIENT TO PROTECT THE REAUME AND MAKE PURVEYANCE FOR THE KINGES EXPEDICIOUN
A. that is, alle the cash we kan get from the contree

Thes thinges me semed good and ful of wisdam, and fayre to speken for the safetee of the reaume. And yet, ich sawe but fewe men of parlement ther in that halle. Ich trowe, ther mvste haue ben gadrid on that night but halfe the men that cam to Westminstre for parlement. For the communes aren manye, and this felaweshippe was smal. And manye of hem who stod ther wyth the Chancellor were knowen to me as frendes of the kinge and loyal servauntz to hys majestee.

And yet litel me thought of thes thinges, for the ale was good and moyst and fre of charge. Ich dranke depe and talkede wyth manye men, and we swalwed gret draughtes for the kinges helth. Tommy Vsk did come and we did talke of this and that. Ich askid Vsk whedir all the men of parlement had been called to this meetinge and he seyde, "Every liege at parlement loial to the Kyng hath ben callid heere tonight, but nat the foule churles who wolde arguen ayeinst the wyse counsels of the Kyng and the Chancellor."

The moon brightli shone, and ich was alle fordronken so that ich coud scarce feel my owen legges vndir me. Drink had me daswed. Ich knewe ich coud nat retourne to Langelondes hous, so ich took my reste at an inn that stood nere to the palais of Westminstre. Ich payde the keeper for a room and did climb the stayres to go to slepe. On the stayres, a fayre wenche cam me-towardes. She must haue ben but of XVIII yere of age, wyth heere as yelwe as flaxe ysponne, and body gent and smal. She was ful moore blisful on to see than is the newe pere-jonette tree.

“Hi, uh, were you at the meeting?”

“Fayre mayde, mene ye the meetinge at the exchequer wher the talkinge poyntez weren yiven vnto vs?”

“The, uh, talking points. Yeah, exactly. Good. I’m the handmaid for Sir...Roland...de Quelquechose. He was at the meeting and he, uh, well, he got a little drunk.”

“Goddes curse on men who are dronkelewe and guzzleres of ale,” ich sayde, and then burpid in a maner uncouth and my face wexed reede wyth shame. And yet the fayre wenche spoke further.

“Well, so Sir Roland made like a frat boy with the beer and all, and he kind of lost his talking points. He's got me running around trying to find other men, uh, loyal to the king who might have them. Could I just borrow your talking points? I’ll make a fair copy for Sir Roland and you’ll have them back before you know it. I’ll just put them under your door. Pretty please? ”

“No thyng wolde greter plese me than to do courtesie to yow and to yower mayster the goode sire Quelquechose, o mayden swete and fayre,” quod ich, and bente me lowe to honour her and yaf hir the talkinge poyntez. And than ich stumbled to my slepe.

And yet whan I wook, no oon had putte the bille of talkinge poyntez backe vndir my door. Ich askede the inn keeper if a braue knight ycleped Quelquechose had taken his reste ther, and the inn keeper seyde he knew no swich name, but it semed to hym that it mente somethinge. And thanne ich asked of the fayre wenche, who she was and whider she had com, and the inn keeper tolde me that he knewe her nat but that she had come ther yesternight at the tyme of vespers and she had hunge around talkinge on a verye expensive celle phone and makinge snarky remarkes.

And as ich stod adased and wondired on what thes thinges coud mene, it cam to my memorie that it was Mondaye morne, and the daye of Parlement! Ich hoofed it to the halle of Westminstre, and entered it in last nightes clothes, stinkinge lyk vnto a beer-pong table.

O the pompe and majestee! Ther was a grete thronge of peple, gentils and menne of richesse fro the shyres, and grete lordes wyth her retinuez, alle assemblid in the Paynted Chamber of Westminstre. Ther were merchantz in liveree of manye coloures, and knightez sadde who had served in werres, professional politicians who shifty looked, and bifor hem alle sat Kyng Richard in hys splendor, and bifor hym was Michel de la Pole the chancellor.

The Chancellor bigan to speke, and he toold of the resons for the callinge of parlement, and he did in grete voys and loude, and wyth fayre speche. And yet noon of yt was newe to me, for it was alle the poyntez of talkinge that ich had rede of at the recepcioun yesternight: that the kinge was to make werre vpon the Frensshe, and that the communes should commit ther shires to yive moneye for the werre, and eek he gave the resons forwhy, et cetera et cete-

Ich sterted, for som oon clasped me by the shouldre. It was Tommy Vsk, and his eyen were fulle of ire.

“Hastow sene this?” he askede me, and he yave me a hand-bille, whos title was, THE PRIVEE TALKINGE POYNTEZ YIVEN BY THE KYNGE VNTO THE CONSPIRACIE OF KEPTE HOUNDES AND SERVAUNTZ HE HATH CALLID TO PARLEMENT TO SPEKE OF HYS OWN SPEDE AND NAT OF THE GOOD OF THE REAUME BUT ONLY THE AVARICE OF HIS COUNSELLORS, NOWE PUBLISSHED AND EXPOSID TO ALLE TREWE COMMUNES OF ENGELONDE AND WYTH REFUTACIOUNS.

“That looketh bad,” ich seyde.

“Bad in deed,” he sayde, “Sikerly, ther hath ben a leek.”

“That smelle ys juste my clothes from last nighte,” I seyde.

“Nay,” quod he, “Ich mene ther hath been a leek in ower securitee. Alle folke of Londoun haue thes billes, and thei aren posted on everye chirche-dore. How has this come to pass? Hastow yiven thy liste of talking poyntez to any oon?”

“Nay, to noon but the loial mayde of Sir Quelquechose.”

“Ther beth no knight of that name in the Kinges faction,” seyde Vsk, “What maner of mayde was she?”

“She lookid kynde of lyk Keira Knightly ycrossid with Sarah Michelle Gellar, but in a good way.”

“Geoffrey Chaucer, thou sely foole, thou hast discovered the kinges secretes to Griselda Mars!”

But we coud talke na moore, for the speche of de la Pole was finisshed, and alle the communes wente awey to the Chapter Hous of the abbey for to speke of the respons thei sholde make to the demaundes for moneye, and ich wente with hem in my capacitee as elected representative of Kent, and Vsk ranne off on busyness of his owene.

O, my rederes, ther ys much moore to telle of, but my handes are sore and my eyen are blered and my herte filled wyth doute. Soon ich shalle telle yow of what bifel in the Chapter Hous, and eek what ich lerned of the plottes and plannes of the factions. And yet ich tremble as I type, for ich scarce knowe wher my loyaltee stondeth.

Quick Chekke-In

2006-09-30T20:34:00.000Z

This is juste a smal missive to saye that ich am heere in Londoun and redy for parlement in westminstyre on the morwe. Tommy Vske was nat able to offer me hospitalitee for -- By Seynt Valentine! -- he hath sum ladye stayinge over. Ich know litel of her saue that she beth ycleped 'Margaret.' He promiseth me that we shall brunchen togedir sum tyme this week. He beginneth to throwen hym self aboute as if he were all that and a bagge of oat-cakes. Nichil asperius paupero cum surget in altum.

So, beinge thus sexiled, I haue taken the hospitalitee of my verye talle frende Guillelmus Langlande. Livinge in a cotte in Cornhulle wyth a tall angrie poet, hys wyf Kytte and hys doghter Calotte ys nat exactlie myn idee of a holidaye, but ich wisshe to kepe my parliamentarye fee for to purchasen sum bookes, so no fancie hostelrye for me.

Eny way, ich am vsing the wireless at Paternoster rowe, and a scrivener is yivinge me dirty lookes. Moore to come whan Parliament beginneth.

Lowys Sez Blade Storm = Not Worth Your Time

2006-09-27T01:59:00.000Z

Yo churlez and gentilz this is Lowys Chaucer. Dad is on his way to London and Wizzy-Minster for to speken of grete matirs touchynge the state of the reaume or some such like. SO FOR NOW you are treated to the extry crispy text and gloss of me, not-Litel no-Spittle Lowys Chaucer. And I, fellow$, am here to speak my mind in great anger, for I am riled to the mAximum by tidinges of the gaming industry.

Let this video clip be known to you:

OMG WHAT TOTAL INSOLENCE. THIS IS A RIP OFF OF MY FAVORITE GAME. Just some lamexxor copy of Crecy: Knight Commander. Wyth CKC dominating the genre of chivauchee/strategy simulatorz of our noble struggle against Fraunce, why does Sony come out and release this tun of lameage?

I got some of the sk1nny at the Game-spizzot here, and let me just go through and gloss these t1dynges per cola et commata for the benefit of you my fair audience so that you will not make the mistake of buying this salt-herring of a game.

In principio:
“Koei's other title, action epic Blade Storm, will be set in Europe during the Hundred Years War between the English and the French.”

ONLY ENGLISH AND FRENCH (I'm not going to call them Magna Carta, that is ridiculos)??? ALREADY CKC PWNZ BLADESTORM! – Soundz like with “Bladder Storm” all you can play is II sides. CKC has multiple factions, including the Castillians, the Scots, Brittany, and the Flemish (although everybody knowz that all the Flemish do in the game is eat cheese and have mystic ladies who chill in ovens).

Okay, we keep going:
“you neither control a hero character, nor do you take direct control of bodies of troops. Instead, you tell the units where or how to attack and they carry out those commands, with the individual soldiers using their own artificial intelligence to decide best how to do that.”

O RLY? And I bet parish priests use their t1thes to help poor people! "Individual soldiers using their own artificial intelligence"? If individual soldiers could do anything, we wouldnt need great knights and commanders, bold squires of blood and like enough banners to keep Parys Launcecrona in dresses until the coming of Antichrist. I read all the war mags and never have I heard footsoldiers use intelligence to decide anything. CKC totally simulates the absolute fear and reluctance of pikemen and bowmen to do anything but drink ale. I bet BS wont have the ‘get troops drunk on ale’ function or the ‘motivate troops through promise of plunder’ position. Bladestorm = not realistic.

And to all you haters who say CKC is all about spamming the longbow attack all the time, I say YALL ARE BUTTON-MASHERES WHO KONNE NAUGHT OF PROWESSE. Your not going to win spamming the longbow attack unless you build your ditches right and put a lot of time in to prayer and training. And ale. YOU ARE NOT GOING TO PWN ANYONE AT CKC UNTIL YOU READ THE LAST PART OF AEGIDIUS ROMANUS, so stop trying to say it is easy. I bet noobs could learn all the strategy of 'bladestorm' without even touching Vegetius.

See, its the little features that make CKC stand out as the definitive game of the war of our rightful claim in France, the great touches that totally make you feel like a leader of great hosts of war, the which I am sure BS will not have. CKC’s ‘begin battle with speech about saint’s day’ feature is TEH AWESOME. Every time I am chivaucheeing against noobs online, I try to plan a major engagement near July 15 so I can be all like “IT IS ST SWITHUNZ DAY AND FOR XL MORE DAYS IT WILL BE RAINING THE BLOOD OF NOOBS.” FTW! Although LOL sometimes that shizznit trips me up like this one time it ended up the biggest fight was on August 25 and I so choked – I was all like ‘UH ER TODAY IS THE DAY OF SAINT GENESIUS PATRON SAINT OF ACTORS AND WHEN YOU ARE OLD YOU WILL FEAST THIS DAY AND SAY ‘THIS IS SAINT GENESIUS’ DAY’ AND THEN SOMEBODY WILL SAY ‘SCENE’.’ Ya – I know it doesnt make 1 groat of sense but thats whats fun about it. And I will put my lands to wed that BS will NOT have this feature so do not WASTE your time. BS will be a LAME hack and slash.

And while were listing the SORE LACKITUDE of this fugazy Bladestorm situation, scire facias this:
” You'll be able to choose from 10 playable characters at the outset, and more will become available as you progress through the game.”

Only X? Thats like having only three characterz in the romance of the rose. Theyre totally going to choose the basix, and they’ll do up all the outfits stupid like in those other koei games, like give Le Prince Noir some stupid all black costume (for real Prince Ed always dressed up like swamp thing, he was CRAZY about imitating a woodwose. Dad says at parties the Prince was always like doing woodwose stuff and people were like “enough with the woodwosery” and he was like “eff you all, I’m the black prince.”).

I am so betting they dont even include Sir Richard Scrope. Theyll probably not even throw in that poophead Simon Burley (one of my frendz wrote a mod for CKC that lets the you steal gold from other characters when you play Burley – so tru LOL).

And I bet there wont be parliamentary trials for your character if you sell your fortresses to the other side. Speaking of that, it dont look like BS mentions parliament at all which is totally lame since resource management makes the strategy in CKC really deep and immersive. The balance between teeing off your allies and making your peasantry go buck wild with hunger is one of the tru nuances of CKC. PURVEYANCE ROCKS OMG.

Although there is one thing that looks to be of the interesting. It seems this Blade Storm game has some frensshe chick who kind of looks like a dude and rides forth with a banner. I wonder who thats supposed to be. She looks like she is hella tough. I wonder if these game designers know something we dont know?

Okay, those are enough of my thoughts for this matter. & for those who do not like all this talk of video games, youlll get your potel-full of snore-a-rama politics when Dad gets to a wifi and starts blogging about parliament and london b.s. and all that other stuff yall scholars dig.

Holla.

Vnpleasant September

2006-09-16T00:09:00.000Z

It hath been longe syn ich haue writen eny thing for my blog. ~~Pour voir dire~~ For to speken trewely, ther beth but litel mirthe and solaas yn myn hous, and lik-wise in al the houses of Engelonde. Al the moneth of August and nowe yn to the temperat moneth of September, mony tidynges haue yronne thurgh the reaume of a greet ~~navie~~ fleet of shippes that the Frensshe haue gadrid at Sluys. Every shire feareth an invasioun!

And thus Philippa is al vp on me about goinge to Londoun for Parlement. Ich am yerne to goon to speke of the gret matirs of the reaume wyth ful loial corage, and to peraventure do sum ‘networkinge’ that may winne me a bettir job. And yet Philippa wisheth me to stayen at hoom.

Alwey she saith thus: “Forwhy dide Godde yive thee eares, Geoffrey, whan thou opst hem nat to eny sense? Thou art ever frowarde, that dare I swear. Al the folke of London murmren as bees doth in an hyve that the Frensshe shal eftsoon come to Londoun-toun and maken siege and assaut vpon it! Kanst thou, Geoffrey, holde off the knightes of Fraunce wyth yower games of video, or wyth yower litel woolen hatte?”

And she hath a poynt, for Tommy Vske hath wroot me of the hullabaloo that taketh place in Londoun thes dayes. Al who kepen ~~menage~~ hous in Londoun haue been commandid to laye doun store of provisions ynogh for III moneths if the Frensshe should make siege. And sum men of Londoun, y trowe, haue torne the houses doun that stood neigh to the walles, to make hem moore redy for defens. And the fishmongeres hath preparid greet ~~trebuchets~~ machines of werre with whiche they shal hurle salt-herringe at the foe-men whanne they come up the Thamis. The poulterers haue trained XL cokkes to fly wyth bombes of fyre and poudre yfastned to ther talons, and droppe doun vpon the shippes of the Frensshe. Ther haue eek ben sum suggestions involving serpentes. And sum men flee the citee, or dispend al ther worldlie goodes for thei thinke they shal haue but litel tyme left to lyve as fre men.

And eek no soul speketh wel of the Frensshe in al of Engelonde. Ywis, in eny phrase or name which bifor had the wordes ‘Frensshe’ or ‘Fraunce,’ nowe for loue of Engelonde and Seynt George and good Kyng Richard al men say in sted ‘Magna Carta.’ And thus we eten of ‘Magna Carta fries’ and ‘Magna Carta breed’ and do ower legal pledinge in ‘Law Magna Carta.’ Ich chide litel Lowys for ‘Magna Carta kissinge’ on dates and the whil ich wayte up for hym to return ich do rede wyth muchel delit the lais of ‘Marie de Magna Carta.’ Syn everychoon pretty much still useth the Magna Carta language for commerce, and chevisaunce, and lawe, thinges are a bit of a mess.

And thus al is nat wel ~~chez chaucer~~ at myn hous. ~~Parlement~~ ~~a big meetinge?~~ Parliament shal be a tyme to speken of gret matirs, for the kinge nedeth moneye for defens. No matir what Philippa saith, ich feere no Magna Carta invasion of Londoun, and ich shal go and speke for my shire. Eek, ich shal pick up sum of my annuittees and also ich am supposid to testify for my lord and buddy Sir Richard Scrope. And it shal be good to see Tommy Vske ayein. Also, it wolde much plese me to see thos trayned attak chickens.

Ich shall writ ayein whanne ich come to Londoun! Parliament openeth on october 1st. Ich haue ben toold that ther shal be a recepcioun wyth shrimpe cocktailes on the first daye. Also, my lord the kinge hath sente me a liste of 'talking poyntez.'

~~Le Vostre~~Yoweres treuli,
GC

hotte or nat

2006-08-31T00:06:00.000Z

Plese uote for me and saye that ich am hotte. Peraventure my peynture may plese nat the moderatoures (for it is a manuscripte and ich haue but litel cleavage), yet lette vs yive this a trye!

up-date: Helas! It plesede hem nat. "Sorry, the moderators decided that your picture submission is inappropriate
for HOT or NOT."

Serpentes on a Shippe! (spoylerez)

2006-08-21T03:59:00.000Z

Al of Londoun ys aflame wyth newes of the grete entertaynment of 'Serpentes on a Shippe,' the which ys perfourmed ech daye by the menne of the gild of beekeeperes (and thus ys ycleped a 'b-movie'). Ich haue just nowe retourned from a trippe to see yt wyth Litel Lowys and Tommy Vske. Whan ich was ther, Tommy founde for me a copye of the romaunce in fyve chapteres on whiche the performaunce ys based, and Ich shal pooste yt heere for yower redyge. (This writer hath a verye good style - ich am reallye jealous. Oon daye, peraventure, ich shalle write sum thyng of Arthur; and yet, the matir of Troye hath alwey ben easier for me.)

Spoyler alert: If ye haue nat yet sene the performaunce of 'Serpentes on a Shippe,' rede nat of the romaunce, for it doth telle of the manye suprises and straunge eventes that happen in the course of the storye, and thus it mayhap shall lessen yower enjoiement of the performaunce yt self.

--

THE NOBLE TALE OF SIR NEVILLE DE FLYNN & THE SERPENTES ON THE VESSEL

maad yn to Englysshe from the Frensshe bokes by Sir Frank Malory

chapter the ist

Hit befelle uppon a day that SIR SEAN de JEHANNE, who was a yonge knight and a gentil, dide wander as adventures wolde gyde hym nere to the fayre citee of Honolulle. He lepede on his hors from manye an heigh hille yn slowe mocioun yn the maner of a goode knighte and a valyaunte. And whan it was nyghe none, Sir Sean cam to a grete bridge that was made of oold by the Romayns, and from that bridge did hange doun-ward an eremyte whos visage was ful hewn and bledde and al his clothes and the place aboute weren bloode red. And Sir Sean askede hym what he did ther and wherefor he was hanged and who had so grievousli him woundede; ‘Fle from this place, Sir Knight,’ he seyde, ‘For the man cometh who did thes woundes to me and he is a grete kynge but a felon and a traytour and hys name is KYNGE EDICHIM and he hath doon this to me by cause ich haue stood ayeinst hys grete outrages and felonies.’

Then Sir Sean did see manye knightes comynge to that place and so he hid hymself among the bushes. And Kyng Edichim ycam wyth his knightes and dide kille the eremyte. And Sir Sean made to fle but his bootes made a sounde and the knightes spyede hym and gave hym chase. And thogh he scapede from hem, thei sawe wher he rode and knew of his lodging. Therwithal Kyng Edichim sente thre of his knightes to Sir Seanes lodging for to slayen hym for he had sene hys foule deede. And thus cam aftir vespers Sir Stuntman Number Oon and Sir Stuntman Number Two, son of Expendable Extra who had done manye deedes in the dayes of Uther Pendragon, and wyth hem Sir Stuntman Number Thre.

And so the miscreant knightes wolde break ope the doore of Sir Seanes room and slaye him foullie, but that SIR NEVILLE DE FLYNN cam and seyde to Sir Sean, ‘Sir Knight, if thou shalt do my biddynge than thou shalt scape wyth thy lyf,’ and bad Sir Sean to hye hym from that place. And then Sir Neville made hym redy, wyth one spere he smote hem downe al thre over ther horses croups. This kynde of thynge was ful yn his style, for hys verye wallet hath ‘bad motherswyvere’ on it ywrit.

chapter the iinde

Then Sir Neville told Sir Sean that they must cross the see to the court of the grete King Arthur, for Arthures puissance coud bringe Kynd Eidichim to justise. For Sir Neville was yn the Feudal Bureau of Investigacioun. And so the two knightes cam to the coost of the see and ther thei sawe a rich vessel hilled over with red silk and thei cam to yt. ‘Master mariners,’ seyde Sir Neville, ‘We muste make passage yn yower firste-classe section, for I bringe a witnesse to the courte of Kynge Arthur.’ And the mariners and the maydes on the boate assentede, thogh manye a rich burgois dide grucchen much at levynge first classe for coache.

And thus the mariners made hem redye to sayle across the grete see. In first classe Sir Neville and Sir Sean talkede of matirs of prowesse and knighthode, and doun in coache, manye a stereotype did sitte and make conversacioun. Ther was a PRIORESSE, who lovede hir smalle dog, and also a SQUIRE, who mad manye songes of rappe and had TWO FAT KNIGHTES wyth him, and also a WOMAN WYTH A BABYE AND AN ACCENTE, who coud muche of plesaunte folke remedyes and TWO FOUNDLINGES who travelid all al oon, and an ANTISOCIALE ENGLISHMAN and also a gret manye EXPENDABLES.

And Kyng Edichim bethoghte hymself how Sir Neville was a man of muche power and coud nat be bestede by knightes; and so Edichim turnede hym to trecherie and sorcerie. Withinne the hulle of the shipe he had privilye yputte manye a caske fulle of serpentes and wormes and foul addres, and therto he put aboute the boate a philtre ycleped Far-Amoun by the Arabes, the which maketh serpentes to freke the helle oute and starte juste bitinge eny oon thei see. And wyth alchemy he sette the lockes of the caskes for to bursten whan the boate was yn the middel of the see. And yn this wise nat oon of the securitee gardes did knowe of the ambusshe of the serpentes that was to be, even thogh thei did make al the passengers remove her toothpickes and lettre-openeres and especiallye ther jarres of oyntmentz and sportes-drinkes. And thus the vessel departed wyth the serpentes hidden vpon it.

chapter the iiirde

So whan the ship had on the ocean saylede for two houres and was on the rollinge wawes of the see, anon the lockes of the caskes breste forth and the snakes weren loosed. Right so the hoolde of the shippe was fulle of al maner of serpentes that hisse and crawl vpon the erthe, such as amphisbanae and aspides, vipers the which aren sum tyme called berardes, and bosk-addres and cheldires whos bite causeth shakynge and sodein deeth, egges-wermes and water-naddres, slow-wormes and ophites and manye othir thinges that movede serpentli. And syn thei had brethede depe of the Far-Amoun, thei were wood as if thei weren on cracke.

Thus cam the snakes in the coache seccioun of the vessel, and ther was much noyse and screminge and manye EXPENDABLES weren eten and in the naughtye partes ybitten. The ANTISOCIALE ENGLISHMAN dide throwe the dogge of the PRIORESSE to the serpentes for to make hem delaye, and yet he too was eten by a grete wyrm. And the SQUIRE did showe that for all of his bling he was but a cowarde. And the WOMAN WYTH A BABYE AND AN ACCENT dide scape wyth her babye and her accent.

Sir Sean herde the noyse and fayne wolde haue gon doun to the coache seccioun. For neyther he nor Sir Neville had sene the snakes, but herde onnlie the cryes from below and knew nat what happede. And so Sir Sean got hym up to move but Sir Neville seyde, ‘Sir Knight, whan first we met ich toolde thee that if thou sholdst do my biddynge, thou wolde lyue, and in ower aventurez it hath happede thus that thou hast no reson to distruste me. Thou must bringe thy witnesse to Kyng Arthurez court, and thus stay thee heere the while ich figure out what the helle the noyse ys aboute. Mesemeth peraventure that the in-shippe filme ys Failure to Launch and alle folke do screme in terror at the mismatchede romantique payringe of Sarah Jessica Parker and Matthew “Nat Luke nor Owen” McConaughey.’ And so Sir Sean stayede put while Sir Neville went doun to ward the noyse.

chapter the ivthe

Sir Neville cam to wher the folke of the shippe wyth the snakes yfought, and he sawe the bodyes of the dede and the sight grieved hym sore, for the battel had waxed passinge hard and the folke had little wherewithal to defend hemselves. And Sir Neville then fared wood as a lion and with his swerd he cutte in twayne the snakes that at him lept.

‘Builde a walle for to kepen out the serpentes’ he seyde, and the folk obeyed hym and piled up her luggage, the whiche did stop the onslaught of the serpentes as an othir walle had long agoon ystopped the onslaught of the Scottes. And the WOMAN WYTH A BABYE AND AN ACCENT coud sum thyng of leechcraft and so put salues and poulticez on thos who had been bitten and yet had nat perisshed. And oon of the FOUNDLINGES was bite and hys arm was sore sore.

And the SQUIRE was loosinge yt and seyd ‘O Jesu, defend us from death and horrible maims! For I see well we be in grete peril of death, for ther aren snakes on ower shippe and thei are angrie at sum thyng.’ And Sir Neville seyde to him, ‘Yes, I marvel how thei cam vnto this ship wythout wittynge of us alle. Yet nowe ther beth litel hope but to fighte hem.’

And Sir Neville and the SQUIRE and al men on the shippe alive who coud weapnes hold dide marche ayeinst the serpentes and do grete bataille and long war. But the snakes were full of ire and of venym and were still passinge y-riled-uppe and thus gave grete assaut in returne. And thus the battel stood wyth manye dede on eyther syde.

chapter the vthe and finale

Then Sir Neville and the men who with him fought did drawe togedir and Sir Neville seyde, ‘Litel it availeth us to fighte wyth thes snakes. By cause thei do not jouste as knightes do, nor do thei make fayre parlay whan thei aren captured, but rather in the nature of beestes thei bite the helle ovte of vs the whole tyme.’ And thus thei made retreat to behinde the walle.

Then ther was a crashinge grete and terribil, and the sound of the sayles droppinge on to the decke. In the winde the ship did founder. Vp staires, Sir Sean did checke wyth the mariners and finde hem all y-slawe by the snakes, and the snakes had occupyed the wheel of the shippe and the mappe of navigacioun. And Sir Sean cam doun and toold Sir Neville and Sir Neville was passinge wroth and seyde, ‘That ys ynogh. I haue hadde it wyth thes cursed by Seynt George snakes on this cursed by Seynt George shippe!’

‘What haue ye seyde?’ askede the PRIORESSE then. ‘I did curse the snakes,’ seyde Sir Neville, ‘and therwith the shippe, in the name of Seynt George who ys a patron of valour and chivalrie.’ ‘Ywis,’ seyde the PRIORESSE, ‘yower cursinge hath borne good fruyt, for methinkede whan I herde ye speke thus that the arme of man, eek even of a mighti man swich as yowerself, is but a litel thinge compared to the grete power of God the which is dispensed thorow the mediacioun of the seyntez. And thes serpentes the which do make werre ayeinst us aren figuraciouns of the sinne of ower firste parentes who weren by a serpent deceyved, and thus thei signifien that we sholde seke nat strengthe in knighthede but in prayere and devocioun. For syn we face thes foule serpentes, mesemeth we must seeke succour and aide from the gret seynt who is the enemy ysworn of al maner of serpentes.’

‘Dang, babye,’ seyde Sir Neville, ‘ye speke gret wisdam.’

And alle the crewe prayed to Seynt Patrick and thorow hys mercy the serpentes were slayne every oon of hem and the shippe came safelye to shore.

Good Lord saue us alle yn swich a maner as thou hast saved Danyhel in the liones den and Jonah in the wales bellye and saue us especiallye from Snakes on the See, in the name of Jesu ower Lord and Seynte Patrick

HEERE ENDETH THE BOKE OF SIR NEVILLE DE FLYNN AND THE SERPENTES ON THE SHIPPE

Wondirful newes!

2006-08-15T04:52:00.000Z

By seynte Edward! Yt hath ben a ful stressfule weke, ful of much hastie and sodein laboure, but al of my effortes haue produced fayre and honourable fruyt thurgh the assistance of my frende and my Kinge.

Wednesdaye laste, ich was yn my lawn-chayre slepynge aftir a longe night of pwninge noobs, whanne ich was awook by Tommy Vske, who had travelid as fast as he coud from Londoun.

Litel Vsk ys nowe a serjeant-at-armes for my lord Kinge Richard. And he thus broghte tidynges to me in execucion of his office. Writtes had ben ysent to everye contee for the eleccioun of menne to speke for the communes in parlement, and the eleccioun was to be held that Sundaye in Canterburye. And therwithal my lorde Kynge Richarde had sente Vsk to telle me to runnen for parlement, for the Kynge seyde that he wolde lyk sum gode men and trewe and loyale to his majestee to be ther attendaunt vpon the parlement.

"Thinkstow that folke wille voten for me?" quod I.

"Hekke yes. Ich wolde vote for thee," he spak.

"And yet, what skille haue ich?" ich askede.

"Thou hast a swete litel woolen hatte. And thou art prettye good at enrollinge accountes, plus thou art lyk the onlie guye in the shire who ys enditinge a lengthie frame-tale collecioun in the englysshe tonge."

With gretest haste, we wente to Canterburye, and ther dide campaigne amonge the peple. Vsk did helpe me by vsinge his skilles of drawinge to make cunninge billes and posteres for me, the whiche we putte vpon the dores of chirches and of grete halles. We also hadde manye a litel signe of liveree on whiche was write ‘VOTE FOR CHAUCER.’ By cause we hadde the aide of my lord the kinge, we were gretede wyth grete favour and supporte by the bettir men of the contree.

And thus thurgh the intervencioun of Vske at the beheste of my Kynge, Ich am nowe a KNYGHT OF THE SHIRE! Ye do heare me correctlie, good gentils: in but a fewe monthes ich shal goon to parlement at Westminster to represente the shire of Kente, and be priuy to the grete speches and wise conseyles of grete lordes and grete affaires of the reaume, and eek to complayn aboute the smal detailes of lyf for my constituencie and the lak of stedfastnesse and of good dentale care. The parlement comenceth on the firste daye of October. Ich am so excitede -- this parlement is goinge to be wondirful!

In the mene while, eftsoon ich shal pooste the winneres of the tournamente of photographie. Ye maye stille sende yn entreez if ye haue nat yet hadde a chaunce to do so! Ye maye emayle entreez yn attachement to myn emayle at daliaunce AT hotmail.com.

And als, my newe posicioun yiveth me muche feyth in the wisdam of my conseil. If ye haue eny matirs on which ye mighte wisshe to seke myn advyce or conseil, emayle me at daliaunce AT hotmail.com.

And nowe ich must haue sum newe suites fittede for me.

Ich pwne noobs!

2006-08-05T02:59:00.000Z

O my gentil rederes, it hath been a thinge of muche difficultee and laboure for to type euen the smallest entrie in myn blogge. For somer, lyk vnto a songe of Barry Manilow, hath ydrawn alle the spirit and vigor from my limbes and hert. For the gretre part of the hot moneth of July ich laye in my garden on my comfortable lawn-chaire and langwisshed lyk vnto sum yonge lover who hath ydumpede been. Ich daubede myn foreheed wyth a moyste towel and did drinke mvch of somer drinkes swich as margaritae and daquiri.

By night, ich busyede myself with wrytynge of my Tales of Canterburye. And yet methinketh that the somer hete did even then overwhelme my fantasie, for alle of the tales ich enditede dide involve snowe and watir and plesaunte coolinge pass-tymes. In the Knightes Tale, ich wrote that Theseus did constructe a grete swimminge poole in which Arcite and Palamon wolde pleye of marco polo for the winninge of Emilye. The Nonnes Preestes tale was of a penguin ycleped Chanticleer. The Monkes tale was a liste of thos who stood in heigh degree and from yt felle and aftir wente on vacacioun in plesaunte tropicale isles. Alas! Yt semeth that ich muste crosse ovt much of this werke and starte ayein from the beginninge. Yet peraventure ich shal lete stande the Squires tale of Frostie the Snowman and how he was drawen limbe from limbe by Cambyuskan the grete kinge of Tartarye for to be putte in coolinge drinkes, and how aftir, Cambyuskan’s doghter Canacee did fynde the corne-cobbe pipe and button nose and knewe of hir fadires crueltee.

And yet the thinge moost detrimentale to my werke did come nat from the hete, but from my sone. Oon night whanne ich coud write no more, ich herde from litel Lowyses room terrible soundes and grete crashinges and betinges of taboures. Quakynge wyth drede, ich opnede hys doore, and founde hym hole and sounde.

‘What maner of grete din ys that?’ quod Ich.

‘Unwack yowerself a litel, Dizzad. Ich am playinge Auriole,’ Lowys replyede, and did poynte towardes hys ‘Exboxe CCCLX.’

By Seynt Nintendus, ich thoghte to myself, thes aren thos 'video games' the which Lowys ys alwey pleyinge. A grete curiousitee dide posess me, and so ich askede Lowys to shewe me of the propertees of the games. He taughte me the lore of thes merveilous stories, the which aren peyntures that moue and haue sounde and often are made yn Japan, and aren controllid by a small devyce or engine ycovered wyth buttones that ys helde yn the hand.

Heu michi quod sterilem uitam duxi iuvenilem! Ther were no swich games of video whanne ich was a yonge man, and thus ich knewe litel of the sport and mirthe that ys in hem. For soothly, thei aren quite clever and also do improue the coordinacioun of the hande and the eye. Lowys and ich dide sette at pleyinge of the games and we stoppid nat vntil the cokke of morwenyge dide crowe. It rockede, and from thenne on ich was caught in the trappe. Thus my Tales of Canterburye were on the back-burner yputte. The dayes aren fulle of reste, and the nightes fulle of games of video. Whanne Philippe chid me yestirmorn for pleyinge of youthful sporte ich tolde hir that thys was a grete waye to bonde wyth Lowys; she seyde in replye, 'Whatevir happenede to helpinge hym wyth his grammer homewerke?' (for she ys a woman who loveth the laste worde moore than ower lord Jesu).

Here beginneth the descripcioun of the Ludi de Visionibus

Syn ye, my rederes, are folke lyk myself who kanne noght of games of video, ich thoghte ich wolde here descriven the wondirs of thes tales, and liste the names of sum of the moore notable games, as Lowys hath informede me of hem and shewn hem to me on hys manye computirs and consoles of gamynge.

DONKEYE-KYNGE: Yn thys game, ye playe a peasaunt who hath yn his care a smal donkeye. Ye use the gentil beeste to dryve yower carte and to transporte donge, for which ye are payde ful litel, and yet ye muste kepe obeiant and meke to wards the bettir and mower substantiale menne of yower village. At the ende of XX minutes, a purveyor of the kinge cometh and taketh aweye the donkey, and then ye, the pesaunte, are sesed wyth despayr and do falle deed. Then ye, the playere, are rankid by how manye piles of donge ye hauen transportid and wyth howe much meekeness.

CIVILISATIOUN: Yn this ful lernede game, ye playe the ful course of civilisacioun on the globe of the erthe. Erst, ye do governe the civilisacioun of the Golden Age, and gathir acornes and the croppes that the erthe ytself doth yive forth withouten labour. Lowys sayeth that this part of the game ‘sucketh’ for ther ys no werre or fightinge. And then oon of yower folke fyndeth golde in the grounde, and an othir iren for to make wepnes of werre and thus the golden age doth ende. In sequence, ye playe thurgh the grete tymes of the Babyloniens, the Persyenes, and Alixaundre, and the Romayns, and then then ye come to the age of Steel, the which ys oure tyme, of longe werres and terrible, and of the divisioun bitwene the popes of Rome and Avignon and the Grete Pestilence. At the ende of the game, ye do muche penaunce for the sinnes of the werlde and thanne ther ys sum musique.

TROJAN KOMBAT: Yn this game of video, ye playe oon of the renouned knightes of Troye or Grece, and do battel yn single combat by pressinge the buttons on yower controller. My fauorite character ys Troylus! Ech caracter hath the same ‘basic moves,’ but yf ye presse the buttones yn speciale combinaciouns, the characteres kan do ‘special moves.’ Ich haue heere ycopyed the special moues for Troylus, for my remembraunce:

A + A + UP + DOUNE: The ‘Canticus Troili’: it bringeth yn Pandarus to fight alongside Troylus.

A + UP + LEFT + RIGHT + B: The ‘Litera Troili’: it maketh Troylus to sitte adown and rolle hys herte to and fro to seke how he may best descryven his wo to hys ladye (-nat verye effective in combat!!)

B + A + DOWN + DOWN + UP + UP + A + CROSS YOWERSELFE: Maketh Troylus to speke of divine purveyaunce, the whiche doth paralyse yower opponente wyth confusioun

...and yet, wyth alle thes speciale moues, everye tyme that ich playe Troylus, Lowys doth playe Achille, and ich am defeatede!

TYGER WOODSES HUNTINGE AND HAWKINGE: This game doth make simulacioun of noble sportes, so that thos who aren nat of rich estaat maye ride of fyne horses and chase the kinges deere and hawke wyth gode briddes of preye. This game taketh the name of the grete hunter and falconer Tigere Woods, who hath IV tymes taken the prize of the Maysteres Tournament of Falconry, and twies won the daye at the PGA Championshippe of Boare-Huntinge. Manye a time haue ich sene nobles go to hawke and hunte, and ich do promise yow that this game ys verye realistic. At the ende of the hunte, noble ladyes come to the partye of hunteres and ther ys gentil talke of loue (presse B as faste as ye kan and ye shalle sigh wyth grete loue and affecioun!) and al the while the churles preparen the deere for roastinge. Ye kan choose to playe as seuerale noble hunteres, yncludynge my lord Johannes of Gaunte (BSL! He muste haue needed sum extra cashe for hys werres yn Spayne!!).

AURIOLE: This game ys of the kynde ycleped ‘FPS,’ or ‘firste-persone sermon,’ in whiche ye see as yf out of the eyes of a noble prechour named Mayster Cheeve, and ye traverse the countree prechynge to manye folke. Ye fynde manye bookes of storyes of deedes of seyntes and manye bookes of lore with whiche ye maye equip yowerselfe. My fauorite ys John Bromyardes Summa predicantium - it hath the longest range and ys effective ayeinst alle classes of societee. Sum tyme yn the game ye espyen heretickes, and ye maye kille hem wyth the aide of the seculer authoritees. Yf ye haue grete success, ye receyve an auriole that shineth arounde yower hede. Ye kan also playe this game in competicioun wyth otheres ‘on-line,’ in whatte ys callid a ‘dethe matche.’ Ther ys a maner of speche vsid by thos who playe Auriole in ‘deth matches’– to winne a game ys to ‘pwne’ the othir playeres; conversiones thurgh yower prechynge are called ‘fragges,’ and thos who are of litel experience (lyk myself) are yclepede ‘noobs,’ or novices.

GRANDE THEFTE, COLLUSIOUN, AND MAYNTENANCE: Ich had herde of this game bifor, for manye a petiticioun hath ben yiven to the kinge in parlemente concerynyge the threte that thys game wille make childrene in to violent felouns. Ich was astonyed to heere that Lowys had boughte it hym self, by bribinge a clerk of the video games store. And yet, ther ys litel mattir for worrye, for the game itself ys a satire of the disordred state of lawe in this contree. Ye run arounde and commit various actes of trespass with force and armes, and then use yower patrones and affinitee groupes to get yow out of prisone. Ther ys even a 'mini game' yn whiche a sheriff doth presente yow wyth a writ to appeare in courte and ye teare yt yn piece-meale (by pressinge the A button very faste!). Ye gayne riche landes by doynge yower neighbours wronges and oppressiouns. Ye kan evene take the liverie of various corrupt local lordes, and putte the robes and hattes and pinnes on and looke at yowerself yn the mirour. Althogh ich trye to be a man of moralitee, ich muste admit that this game ys verye fun! Every tyme ich do commit trailbaston and hitte a lawyer ovir the heede to take of hys coynes, ich do pretende yt ys that wankere Johannes Gower! Ywis, ich do thinke that this game pleseth nat the menne of parlement for yt striketh verye close to the merke.

And so, my noble rederes, vntil the hete of somer fullie abateth, ich shal be up wyth litel Lowys, in hys attic room, playinge of video games and drinkinge depe draughtes of mountayne dewe. C U L8re, gentilz!

A Pyrates Lyf for Chaucer

2006-07-15T01:01:00.000Z

Arrrrrgh, ye scurvie swabbes. Yt ys ich, Geoffrey Chaucer, Drede Pyrate and Scourge of the Ocean See.

Or at leest so ich was ‘til yestermorne, whanne ich did a-laste returne to my litel hous in Kente aftir a manye a daye. Ich hadde but scarcelie opnede the dore, yet right anon Philippa did seise me and remoue my ear-ringes and dide commaunde me to sitte yn the tubbe un til the smelle of the salt-see and rum had departed fro me. She hath taken my parrot and putte it in a cage, the which newe settlement pleseth the bridde right nat. She did telle me that ich maye nevir ayein weare myn eye-patch if evir ich wisshe to lay by her.

How did this hap? Ich shal tell yow.

My journeiinge dide commence yn the accustomed maner, wyth muche planninge and manye lettres of passage from My Lorde Kyng Richarde. Ich was sente wyth my Lord Sir Edward de Berkeley to Lumbardye, ther to make negociacioun wyth Lord Bernabo about aide for Engelond in the grete werres with Fraunce. Our companie dide trauel by shippe along the costes, and dide reche fayre Milan. Al thogh trauelinge ys a payne in my butte, and my luggage was y-lost IV tymes along the weye, yt was all prettie okaye. By Seynt Isidore, ther ys a grand librarie and a fayre at Milan – thos tyrantz do loue their bookes. Ich red muche of the werke of Petrak and Boccace, and took notez this tyme to avoide charges of plagiarisme.

But by my feith, plagiarisme sholde haue yben the leeste of my worries. On the waye home, yn the greye morwenynge, the shipman espyede two blakke sayles at the horizon. “Alak!” quod he “We al shal be yslawe! For ich do see the blakke sayles of the DREDE PYRATE ROBERTSON his two shippes, the Caritas and the Cupiditas. And the Drede Pyrate Robertson never leveth captives!”

Up wente the trompe, and wyth grysely soun out wente the grete gonnes, and heterly ower shippes dide hurtelene al togedir at oones. In goth the grapplinge-hooke, and the pyrates dide crye “arrrgh!” and shake ther pegge-legges at us, and dide swash ther buckles ovir and cutte our rigginge. And ich was dazed and fel doun.

Whanne ich woke, ich sawe IV faces peeringe a-doun at me, and yet they hadde but IV eyen betwene hem, for thei were pyrates alle. In sum wise, my feres and my Lord Sir Berkeley had scapede, and yet ich hadde ben ytaken by the pyratez for ransoum and putte on to ther shippe.

“Arrrgh,” seyde a pyrate, “Wel mayst thou feere for thy lyf, for the Drede Pyrate Robertson cometh to thee, and he shal take thy kernele from thy huske.”

"Aye matey," seyde an othir pyrate, "Thou spekest troth. Robertsones exegesis shal leve thee yn pieces!"

And ther he came, terrible for to looke vpon, wyth a parrot on his shouldre and a wide hatte wyth a skulle and bones y-crossede and a pegge leg and a copye of the De Doctrina Christiana by Seynt Augustine.

“Plese sire, plese spare my lyf!” ich dide crye.

“Yt beth nat yn my power to maken excepciouns," the Drede Pyrate dide shrugge hys brode sholdres and the parrot dide moue accordinglie, "Oones worde doth leke out that a pyrate hath goon softe, peple beginne to disobeye. And then it beth no thinge but werke, werke, werke, al the tyme.”

“Plese sir, plese, ich nede to lyve!”

“For what reson?”

“For ich haue begun to wryte sum Tales of Canterburye, and thei are but barelye bigonne. My name ys Chaucer, Geoffrey Chaucer, and Kyng Richard shal paye a pretti bountee for my hede, for whanne ich was yonge ich was y-ransoumed for XVI pounde, and now ich am at leeste thries as hevy a manne as ich was in thos dayes of yore whanne ich dide serue as valet!”

He dide pause yn thoghte, and also dide consulte hys boke of Christian Allegorie, “Al righte, Geoffreye. Ich haue neuer hadde a valet. Thou kanst trye yt for tonighte. Yt most likely shal happe that yn the morninge ich shal slaye thee.”

For manye dayes he dide saye the same ech night, “Good nighte, Geoffrey. Thou hast done wel. Maye slepe be swete to thee. Yt most likely shal happe that yn the morninge ich shal slaye thee.”

The pyrates dide take me as oon of ther companie, and dide yive me ear-ringes (ouche!) and a parrot the whiche was a hand-me-downe from an oothir pyrate who hadde acquirede a moore colourful and impressive birde.

Ich dide lerne of the arte of spekynge lyk a pyrate, and dide swabbe the deckes wyth grete relishe. For ich was so gladde of my lyf and my breeth that ich wolde probablie haue enjoyede watchinge Ishtar yf thei hadde made me do so.

And thus al was wel, until we dide redie to ouertake a Frensshe vessel. Thanne my legges dide aquaken and shiveren lyk two trees yn a storme. Ich felle ydoun and blakeness coverede myn eyen. And aftir, the pyrates hadde muche disdayne and scorne of me, and the Drede Pyrate Robertson dide threten that ich wolde walke the planke if ich dide nat pulle my weighte.

But what coud ich do? Ich am nat a manne of fightinge – manye longe yeeres haue ypassid syn ich dide handle a weapne.

“Ich kan nat fighte, nor take plunder and bootie. I nam a man of werre, ich am a manne of ale and poetrie.”

“Ywis, Mayster Chaucer, why shaltow nat walke of the planke? Shaltow ete of ower foode and drinke of ower rum and do nat a thynge for vs? Yf thou kanst nat fighte, what kanst thou do?” And the pyrates all rounde me rattlede ther saberes.

“Ich kan...” and thanne my minde did seise vpon it, “Ich kan kepe accountez, and enrolle custoumes.”

Yt took a litel convincinge, but ich dide do muche for the crewes of the Drede Pyrate Robertson. Bifor my cominge, thei hadde knowne no thynge of kepinge of recordes and accounting, and thus muche had been poorlye spente and ther was muche waste and corrupcioun. But with my litel quille and my accounte boke (and my litel woolen hatte, the whiche doth helpe me to thinke), ich did sette the shippes straighte.

Ich dide divide accountez in to plunder (commoditees ytaken from holdes of shippes, viz. wyn or wexe), bootie (goodes ytaken from passengers, viz. jewelerie, bokes, and incidentale items) and ransoum (self-explanatorie) and kepte thre columnes. Ech takere of income wolde bringe me a slippe detailynge yt, and ich wolde yive a recepite and kepe the accountes. Ich dide employe II clerkes, Barnacle Bille and Edward the Blakke-Sworde, who dide produce recordes and sende memoranda to Captayne Robertson. We dide balaunce the in-take of bootie/plundere/ransoum wyth the outlaye of wenchinge, parrote-keepinge, and replacemente of bodye partes.

Ich was full proude of my systeme! In no tyme, ich was doynge complicated pyrate calculaciouns:

Exempli gratia

II de Juillet – ytaken, the frennshe shipe ‘Zidane,’ XX lbs golde (plunder) + II locketes wyth jeweles (bootie) = L eye patches + VII cutlasses + III hookes for handes.

IV de Juillet – ytaken, the flandrishe shipe ‘Hennepin,’ XVI lbs woole (plundere) + xx lbs emeraldes (bootie) + IV yonge fleminges (ransoum) = iv parrotes, iii legges of woode, xii nights of ale and fayre wenches

And thus the dayes were fulle of accountes and the nightes were fulle of songe and rum, and ich was, in my weye, verye happye. Yt was, ich trowe, the beste vacacioun ich haue ever taken.

And yet as Boethius doth knowe, all goode thinges must come to an ende. Oon foule daye, we sawe the shippes of the FEEREDE BUCCANEER DONALDSON, who dide seise ower shippes and capture the Drede Pyrate Robertson and dide putte me ashore som where near Dover. And thus, wyth my parrot and my eye patch and my ear-ringes, stinkinge of rum and of see watir, ich did come home. And thogh in sum regard ich wolde fayne be on the fayre shippe Cupiditas on the rollinge see, yt ys still a thinge of muche sweteness to haue children to talke to, and a wyf to painfullye remoue ear-ringes from my ears, and a blogge to write vpon. So welcome me home, ye land lubberz. And thre cheeres for my fayre and noble suster-in-lawe who did mynde my blogge the while ich was offe havynge aventurez. And nowe, to bedde and to dreme of the see.

Henri le Potier

2006-07-07T02:19:00.000Z

On thyse day, as I coked sop for Joane to eten (she groweth teth, so I maye nat haven hir be nursed muchel mower) I was thinkynge of my poetrye and historie of Vin Diesel, and at ones I was striken by a newe idee, formed in ful within myn heed:

Ther shal be a child, cleped Henri le Potier. He is the child of wicches, who aren deed, and he hath home wyth his yvele oncle and aunte. He then recyves worde forto scoleye so he maye lernen the wayes of wicches. The maistre of the studie is clepen Bourdon Dorre-bee, and there be a man who techeth, loothed by al heighted Snappe; There be two childeren, Hermesie who hath muchel wit, so myche that she is to be taughten with the menn, and a melancholic felawe named Rinaldo delle Donole. Henri le Potier cwelleth hem al for being wicches, and then atte fin he becometh a prest.

Hit shal be a serien, in VIII parties, and hit shal be named -- The Babesittres Club.

____

A MATTIR NEWE: Gode Kinge Richard hath asked I name the charactour Richard le Potier, so hit thus shal be. I shal clepe the erste partie "The Babesittres Clube: Richard and Alkemical Thynges."

Chaus; ower, Shoon

2006-07-05T21:24:00.000Z

Yeestre day, (ower was hit night?) I notede on myn own journelle that I lyk to buyen chaus. Wel, sin I gan to thinken on the mattir, I concluded that I neded an other peyr of blakke chaus. So I boughte some belle botes aft I had ygoon unto the bathes. Haveth thyse chaus reversen claspes and al! (Wel yow witten, ful mo chaus be nat reversen. Moost chaus, swych as thyse woren by my brether-in-lewe, be the same on boothen sydes.)
Hmm... that image of Geffrey be faire bad. Loketh he lyk a deede bodie, and lyk a fate oone at that. Geffrey, whan thou mighte rede thyse poost -- doe nat padde thy pect yf thou meneth nat to weren a ceincture. Hit maketh a mann loke glotounouse and big. The whool resoun forto padden thy pect, is to maken thy waast loke mower smal. That maketh no werke yf thou goost aboute in grete houppelandes with no ceincture. Don a cotehardie atte lest, yf thou wilt nat no ceincture. I wote Philippe hath toolden thee mo times.

Anywey: chaus. I lyke chaus.

KdS

My Poetrye

2006-07-04T06:24:00.000Z

Sin hit be too hoote to goon from the castelle, I have been makynge ordre of my papires and thynges. I founde therein myn poure eldehistorie of Vin Disel that I have yet to fin. Hit hadde therein my moost clever poem, whych Vin Disel singeth to me therein.

Mon chien as pulces, est en mourant de la peste,
For on hys flessh ymaken hem swych feste.
Et si, je suis en mourant, de mon amour de vous –
And in lakkyng yower love, I am anguissous.
Je crie comme mon chien, en la douleurs de mort,
Yet I, myn hound unlike, may be broghtten confort.
O, babie, babie, mighten yow a nighte wyth me enjoy?
A, poupee, poupee, voulez vous coucher avec moy?

Si soit que vous egratigniez ce gale de me,
I shale from that momente yowers everemo be.
Combien que mon chien est mourir, me sauvase;
For hit ben yow that my grevaunces cause,
Et ainsi ce vous estes que guerissent cet.
O! Liste I that yow shoulde maken me bet!
O, babie, babie, mighten yow a nighte wyth me enjoy?
A, poupee, poupee, voulez vous coucher avec moy?

I have been caughtten in plot troubles, so I have nat fined the tale. The eventes therein all be shapen, though. I juste nede to
expresse forwhy Vin Disel hath an Yvel Castelle, and forwhy he chaungeth to a dragon nere the ende.

Je hai l'Este

2006-07-04T02:29:00.000Z

A, Sommer. Although hit be ful fair, with al the herbes and tres, and the briddes-song and grene, one may ete naught but chikkones sin al else should rotten in the sonne er hit may be fin, and one nede chaungen her cloth ful VI times eche day, so wett and foul with swete hem groweth.
Whan in my chaumbre, I may goon about with myn wimple off, my sleves un-bouttoned, my skrits pullen up with my ceincturette and my hosen casten wey, and then hit be nat so badde, but whan I nede appere for othres, unlees hit be my Johne, hit is dredful and I growe reed and drenched, and stynke lyk a stable. My Johne hath sayd he lyketh the mannir in whych I stinke; he is so swoote! But ne myn own selfe lyketh how I stinke, so goon I shale to the bathes thyse weke.

I maye nere nat weyte for Saint Grimbaldes Dey! There shal be a feste for that, and then there shal be mete that is nat chikkon.

Les Lutins a Les Fraises!

2006-07-02T11:07:00.000Z

It is oonly now that I mighte deign to speke of thyse, so dredful hit was.

Went we, my childeren and Ich, to goon and gathere strewen-berries atte feldes nere Southwark. As ye wote, strewen-berries be so strewen aboute by elves who shal catche an ire yf thou takest alle the fruites any oone herb haveth.
We are wendynge the feldes, and we are pikeynge the fruites, and we are dropeyng hem in ower buquets, whan I see – horrures! – estupide Henry hath pullen alle the fruites fro an herb!
“Henry, what hastow doon!?” I cryed. And he saw I was aguisshed, so he sterted to creyen, and so I sterted to creyen, then al gan to creyen and I sayd “Now we may alle deye and be mordred by elves!”

AND THEN, AT THILKE MOMENT, I SAW THE ELVES!

I speke verrily, with ne ne oon falsitye ne. ELVES LOKEN JUST LYKE CATTES! I mighte nat have shryked: Ful my vois was stopped. Then, the elf lett forth hites demone-crey and I toke lite Johnes arm and Thomases arm eke and put Joane neath myn arm let Henry runne hymself sin thyse was al hys fault anywey, and we flowen schremefuly fro the elf!

Swych confort got we as we founde the bloody heedes of felones! A, ne were I nevere so gladd forto seen the chopped-off heedes on London Brygge! Yet – had the elf us followed! Hit was there ayein! And now hit gurgled forth an yvel sound, lyk an hundred tabours in hits bely, and gan to wipen hits demon-elf-flesshe on Henryes leg, sikerly for that he hath bidden hit forth, but I thoughte: “Though hit be Henry who shal cwell us al, I shal nat lette him to deye!” And wyth al my corage and strengthe, I cized the elf and threwe hit a the riveer! Deye, elfe, deye!

And thilke, I feynted, and I droped Joane on hir heede, but lite Johne had saven the strewen-berries, so hit was alle “Oll Korrekt,” whych methinketh be a doublyng of wordes unnecesste. Whan her atte Savoye ayein, I maked strewen-berry cakke, and for hys gode werkes I gave Johne the broodest pece; and though he would have mordered us al, I gave some to Henry eek.

Whan Constaunze came yby my chaumbres, though, I toold hir we hadde eten hit al, though there was an whool cakke that remaineth yet. The bytch shal nat deliten of my cakke!

KdS

Affayres Presente

2006-07-01T03:03:00.000Z

Geffrey hath sayd I ought to speke of affayres presente and of courtlie gossip. Here is some gossip for yow: Constanze de Castelle is a bytch and I hate hir.
As for affayres presente, let us seen what the town cryer hath sayd:

THRE MENN CROSSHEN TO DEETH AT LONDON PREMIR OF HUCHOUNES WERKES.

Atte premir of the werkes of Hugh of Eglington, who be clepen “Huchoun” for causes nat beknowen*, in a manifeste of manye of hys meynee, dede rampeth on the platteform whilst he sange The Aventures of Arthure, ful ycwellynge thre menn in swych deede. Huchoun pleynte and tolde the thringe to moven ybak, but ne dede he nat don awey the avauncynge folke, who creyed “Swoote Susanne, Swoote Susanne!” whych be hys moost wel belovede poem.
“Divers menn weren crosshed to deeth ower stempen,” sayd William Walworth inne declaracioun. The persounes deede ne were wooten nat atte tyme thyse informacioun was gathered. In alle, thre deyed in the desastre.

*Ywit he be so cleped because of hys devocioun to estupide “anime” shewes from the oryent.

I shoulde nat lesse my childeren to seen thyse anime shewes. I have seen what hit doth – hit maketh menne wisshe to seen nat no thynge but anime, and neightest thou knowest, thy childeren are donnynge animal clothyng and “yiffyng” eche othere.

A, my childeren. Sin hit be sommer, they goon oute forto pley a gretely deel. But to morrowe we shal goon out togetheres, forto gathere strewen-berries. From hem I shal make a gode breede ower cake, mo bet than thatte yvel breede I assayed to maken afore.

KdS

Teest teest teestynge

2006-07-01T00:40:00.000Z

Sin neither dere Geffrey ne me can no thynge about computerie there hath been doubte as to howe wele he hath setten up thyse "geste-blogger" acounte. Here endeth my teeste poste.

KdS