Sir John in Whitby

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.