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La Journelle Nouvelle de Katherine de Swyneford!

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Sunday, January 13th, 2008
9:19 pm
Sayen hem Jean Wyclef be selling steroydes.

Sayth me: Hwat?

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Sunday, November 25th, 2007
2:41 pm - Wordes be nat fit
Thyse be the moost beschitte Seint Katherines dey evere. The yere past, I was given grete presentes from my chere Johnne, who is mine namoore.
Eala, that bytche Constaunze hath wonnen!

I have nat spoken of the mattir, for the wo hit brought to me was to grant. I nede say that aft the destruccioun of the Savoye, I wente to seken my Johne who in Edinburgh was. I set my suster Philippe forto loken on my childerenesesener but for Lite John, who I dede forlese. (He ayain is founden, by the grace of Godde, but that is to be tellen.)

I gan by putting my selfe in wise of a lowene catte-dame, and was donned by a companye of gypcianes a ride on hir cart. Methinketh gave hem me the ride sin my cote, which was whit as weren powere folke, became moulled with watter from the rain and was clere as a windwe. To Edinburh Ich, and whan I get me there, aft two wekes and finde my Johne atte Holy Rood, I find my Johne be nat atte Holy Rood namoor and so I mote goon in a cart of aquavite to Lincolen, and al the way there myn hoost kepeth creyen “nu pointen the knif at me!” lyk that be funnie, sin he herde some lame-ers jape wherein a traveller doth some thyng lyk that. Would God I had sayd “Yis, I shal pointen the knif at the!” and qwelled him, the churl.
I cam to Lincolen, and walked therefrom a Kettlethorpe, to myn hoome. There, I find peraventure my lief lite Johne, wele and hale! So gladde was I, graced me God to finden him so! My lite Johne be so wise and intelligent, he wist to goon where I should him finden, hoome in Kettlethorpe.
Then, the neightest dey, a messange cam. Mayhaps I be lowene and nat feigned so, as methoughte “Ywis the newes shal be gode, as augered by finding lite Johne ful faire.” Alakaday, waylaway, schit beschitten cattle-swiver! My messange was from my Johne, my chere duke of Launcastre, my loove. And he sayd “A nostre chere Catherine, maistresse e mothor of oure micel infants, par le grace de dieu, e to oure efforts comforter, from John Plantagenet le duc de Launcastre par le grace de dieu e roi de Espagnie: For bon iou cennen, Dieu (God) us hateth inou and hath explodit nostre chatel that we had com nostre beloved aime Blaunche departen, et hath incited le populace de Londres to us haten ainsi. It est clairement due to his outrage pending oure annes de trair e de infidelitee a Constaunze com vouz. Si, bet ne iou seen again! Adieu! Vostre Johne le roi de Espagnie.”

As if I ken nat what be “Dieu.” And whan he sayth “us” and “oure” meneth him “me, al of us the Duk of Lancautre and King of Espanye.” A he sayeth I shal nat see him nevermo! I ken nat what to doon! I have but taken in muchel cattes and gan to creye in min yard. And eke Johne and Constaunze be gladde in London with the Kinge.

current mood: crushed
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Wednesday, June 20th, 2007
6:30 pm - Boke II
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.
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Monday, June 18th, 2007
12:17 am - The Revolte, boke I
O lecteurs cheres:
I shal saye what I may: my time, in thise intrenet hotte spot, be shorte.

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.
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Thursday, June 14th, 2007
9:10 am
Be ye nat in Londoun, yow may nat wise the helle that hath been wroughten! I may write lite; I nede flee. The Savoye is undre siege!

Waylaway! The pesauntes have revolted; Constaunze hath flede, I have left the children with menn I pray shal guarden hem; and I mote maken me stele. I shal say mower whan I may, by Godes grace.
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Tuesday, June 12th, 2007
11:28 am
On thyse dey, the bitche Constaunze made me forto coken breede all day, for she is a bytch and the bakkyr is seke. My Johne made me promyse nat to fighten wyth hir whilest he be afer in Edinburgh. I hoope somethynge full mal cometh to Constaunze.
A while agone, I boughte some cosmeticke of mineralen, and I have been upon the damned automaticke mailinges-liste syn that dey! I be gettying all thyse litel coffers of poudres and I want hem nat.
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Thursday, May 31st, 2007
8:30 pm
My Johne hath a message to me sente from ferre wey in Edinburough! He sayth alle is wele, and he schal bringe giftes for me and the childerereneser whan he shal retournen. And he maketh jape that I mote nat burn the Savoye ydoun while he is wey.

A, faire gentil Johne myne!
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Monday, April 9th, 2007
2:17 am
Estre wente wele. My suster Philippe cam to seen us atte Savoye, sin Geffrey preveth to hide from his creditores ayein. I sayd I woulde telle my Johne to tellen the Kinge to pay Geffrey ower Philippe for some thynge oer I shal saye to give hem greter toile.

Constaunze shal goe away neightest weke, huzzah! She shal goon to companye hir suster Isabelle, who is married to my Jhones brothor Edmund. He is ful boryng, so I hope it shal be badde for hir. I feel I should don alle of hir shoon whiles she is agone, but I doe nat think I shall verray.
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Saturday, March 31st, 2007
7:35 am
Be hale alle!

I have been so fortaken of othir dedes that I forgotte to wissh ye gentil folkes a Happy Newe Yeere and Happy Feste of the Annunciacioun! May Gode and Jesu graunt solaas and plasir.

My leve Johne hath goon to Edynburgh to tell with the King of Scottes and see that he shal nat cwelle us alles. I doe nat lyke Scottes, but my Johne nede be in hir midst a while. I hoppe ne foule thynge shal falle in his leeve. Till then, I am here atte Savoy with that bytche Constanze and swoote Kateline, and my childeren. But ne woulde I be wey from my Johne!
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Saturday, January 20th, 2007
7:08 am
Brid one breere, briht brid one trewe
Kynd is come, of Love love to crave
Blithful bird, on me, one me thu rewe
Or greith, leef, greith thu me, thu me my grave
Ich am so blithe so briht one breere
Whan I see that hende, hendest in halle
He is whit of lim, of lim and leere
He is fayr, and flur, and flur of alle
Mihte ich hire, hir at wille have
Stedefast of love, loveli, trewe
Of mi sorw he may, he may me save
Joy and bliss wer er, wer er me newe.
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Sunday, January 7th, 2007
5:41 pm
Wele, with the fest of yestreday complet, Christmasse is now ydonen. Alle aren ful seke, as caudell and wine and cockale and ypocras and wessail and sydere haven been oure sustenaunce for manye a day. The metes laste night did helpen to settle oure stomackes some, however, and redied us ayain for solid fodder.

For Christmasse, I got ful manye godely giftes of pannes and disshes of gold, and a forke of golde eke (Wist I nat forwhy any man woulde given me a forke of golde, oonly hethenes ete with swych ungodly thynges what lack in dignitee.) For my Johne, I stiched up a bagge with an image of a licourn and a swan, and I boughte Ninja Turtles for alle my childeren.

The Plauntagenets have wonne ayain at the yeres Christmasse drinkyng tourney. (Those are grete men and long, so they may drink mower in a sete than moost men in a day.) Ever sin Le Prince Noir hath deyed, and Kinge Edward eke, my Johne is ever the conqueror and even his brothors who come in neightest, Thomas and Edmund, are left sleeping in the hay. Lite Johne sought to be alyk to his father, and yet he oonly managed to grow very very seke and dronke, and to find a maid to tend him who was nat in lyk state was nat a task of ese! (Some say maides should nat drink to swych a state, but I say swive that, hit is Christmasse, where Jesu would all men and maides alyke be drunk. For what othor thyng is done to celebrate a birth?) I could nat tend him myselfe; I was too drunke.

I spoke wyth Lady Wake, who is the maid to some of Johnes othor childeren (I am maid to Kataline al oone, and to myn own because I am nat nooble enough to have myn own maides, though Hugh was a knight) and she said "Merde alors! Hit is nat yete Terce and I am dronke!" And I sayd "Me to, for hit is left over from last night." And hit was mower jolly when thou were there.

And so the dronken revelrie ywent, lyk eche yere. The pesauntes we let in the Savoy were nat too villainous and mad, and did nat set no thyng aflame nor swyve thynges which oughte hem nat, so hit was trim fun for alle.
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Saturday, January 6th, 2007
4:54 am
I watche ynow a recitacioun of the tale cleped Numb3res, which be a paine to pronownce. I am dronken on caudell, as I have been for manye a dey (Jhone hath been passed out in dronkenesse for a weke -- that is my sonne Johne, who is nere X yeres elde and wele mote knowe these thynges, nat grete Johne) and sayth me -- man! Numb3res succeth!

Eke, some man wisshed me a Joyous Newe Yer. What the helle? New yere be nat til Marche! Geffrey hath had WAYYY too muchel to drinke, and certes Philippe shal soon tell me all abouten.
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Friday, December 29th, 2006
7:11 pm - Desertes to Constanze
On yestre dey, I was ydronk with caudell whan that bytch Constaunze came to me and creyed “M’aide! Mon chien est malade!” and I quod, “Yis, certes a bytch as the would care for thyn hounde so,” but then I quod in Frensshe, whych she may actually speke, “Belle et bonne; que vouillez vos?” Then she sayth we mote take hit to a leche. I telle hir, I thinke my Johnes leche est esvanide, and she telleth she wist as muche, and thus she nede helpe forto taken the beeste to a carte that we may find another leche who be nat so dronke. Mayhaps in hethen Spanye they doe nat know man may nat find a leche in Engeland who is nat fordrunken at Cristmasstide, becausen the Spanyardes aren all forswoken with swiving hir sibbes megesseth. And then she sheweth me an hound what hath snutt yronnen from hits nase in swych degree that hit maketh vastes lakes upon the ground, and then the beeste cogheth. Then she (Constanze) gan to speken hir hethen speke, something like “pobrocanne” and the dogge noysed as yf hit were vomitinge, but ne was it ydoe of no swych dede.
So, I felt a lite badde for thyse hounde, as to be Constanzes would nat be badd enogh. And I sayd “D’accord; qu’allons.”
Then the dogge puked full upon hir lappe and deyed.

On thyse dey, my childeren haven timbred up a manne of sneow.
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Wednesday, December 27th, 2006
6:07 am
Whan I have nat partoke of so muchel licoure, I shal update, for there have been manye thinges of what to speken. A, there be XII dayes of Cristmasse, so Godde aloon wist whan that shal be that I have has so lite a drink.
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Sunday, November 26th, 2006
5:11 am
How! Hey! Thyse dey was the feste of Seint Katherine, and here folweth my loote:

I panne of golde
I disshe of golde
I wok of golde from Chine
I coffer of metes from the abbye of Flavigny
II chaus (I payre) of the chaucier famows, Manole Blank

My Johne set oute for all the house a feste of fair fode, and lots of ale and wyne and Ypocras. I listed nat forto getten dronke, so I dranke but thre boteils of wyne with my mete and a cask of Ypocras, but would I had toke mower.

I asked the curyiers for her receipts, that I might make hem in my newe disshes, and here are some:

I. Take flower and berm and eyroun and some sugre powdered finli and some milke and gode seedes, the betest thow mighte. Rub hem togetheres with buttyr and whan it is in the manere of a toord in thikenesse, thow shal put hem in an ovene until hit be browne. Thyse is cleped "Catte-coffer cake."

Thys mann was swych a retarde of the northe, I knewe nat what he sayd though I go there ful oft:

II. Trutys or barbels or molets and seth them, and when it is half sothen chop hit smal, and take egges (what the helle?) eyren and swyng tham, and put that fisshe with the eyren and fry them in faire grece.

III. Take the heed of an hog and cleve hit the middle ydoun, and put him in a kettle and sethe hit till he be wele sothen, and hits flesshe be namoor on the boones. Chop the flesshe and thou shall have the licour with salt and powdour, and some erbes, and make hit thike with floure. Sethe thyse agayn, and put hit in oyl till hit be crunchie.

IV. Take bred; frye hit in grece or yn oyle. Put hit yn rede wyne and grynde hit with reysons, and draw hit. Claryfye honye with gleyr of eyron and watyr; scom hit clene and put hit to that othir. Do therto clovys, macez, and gynger mynsed and good poudyr and salt. Loke hit be stondyng, and floresch hit with annes in confite.

V. Take Jellow that is flavoured with limmones grenes, and put thereto blood puddynge and put aquavite therin. Meld thys all togethres and give mo aquavite to the gestes.

VI. Take orenges or limmons pilled, and cutte hem alle the long way, and if thow may keepe thy clowes hwole and put hem in to thy beest broth of mutton or capon with pronnes and raysones and three or fowre dates, and when thise have beene well sodden put hwole pipper, grete mace, a good peece of suger, and some rose watter, and either white or claret wine, and let all thise seeth together a while, and so serve it upon soppes with your capon.

I love my newe pottes! And my chaus!
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Wednesday, November 15th, 2006
12:30 am
O, I have spoken to some "psychotics" as methinketh be the terme in use, on the mattir of a certain swevene which giveth me grete concern. A nowe, from hem I receyve gretely quanities of "Newes-Lettres" eche dey, tellyng me how some man did onys putte hys babe upon a rofe, and leve him in tys place; then as the man wente wey, he thought the babe was in peril 'as yf by sorcerie' and lo! He wente and found the babe aboute to falle, and syn thys day he hath been charging silver for hys psychotic serves.


I saugh in feld thre cowes, ower sexe -- I have nat certaintie. Alle but oon flewe away, (yis, flewe -- thys semed a natural thyng in the dreme) and thys last cow was moost sadde. I told him we should loke for hys companye, and I toke him by the heltre. We walket, til the yvele Hoor of Babylyn apererd in ower wey, and quod "Ha ha, Katherine, thou shalt neevere get to Johne!!! And thy cow shall become mete!!! METE!!!!" I was ful destressen, so I toke oute a mitrailleuse and shot hir XXXXVII times (I thinke.) She yet was atwtche, so I bete hir to deeth with the gunne as she cried, then I stomped upon hir covrechief. She stille would nat deye, so I kikked his till she did nat move ayain. "Et bien tres bien, Cow -- we must hide thys bodie in the cesspoole er Johne should to thys mattir wisse-uppe!" The Cow toke hir heed within hys teth and I toke her by the fett.
Sin thys was the Hoor of Babylyn and I had cized Domesday by hir morder, I did nat feel badde about any of thys. We went to sinken hir in the rivire (now we were to put hir in a rivere, megesseth.) Whan she hit the watter, she was alyve ayain! I cried and threwe stoons upo hir, but ne dide she deye, and she was faminge blood all about! Then, the nooble cow jumped on hir and drowned hir, but eke, he did qwelle himselfe. (The poure Cow!) I did fele ful sadde for him. Then Richard-Henri le Potier flewe by and sayd "Ay, wherefore dostow nat dreme of me?" and I sayd "Swive thee, I think of other thynges ynow."


O, and I saw this and ywot it were joly:

"Man, bewar of thin wowynge
For weddyng is the longe wo."
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Saturday, November 11th, 2006
6:46 am
A, I doe regret I have nat been mower diligent in my poostynge, a thys be, in some ways, a thynge godelye; for whan I poost hit doth mene oft tides that some thynge badde hath come to passe.

Alle that hath chaunced to be of thyse weke is that my copie of "Sabattum" is ycome.
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Wednesday, October 25th, 2006
11:38 pm - Joane
Ooo! Joane hath lerned how to walken!
I was a mote mooneful, sin she semed to nat be lyk to, and she is nere tweye yere. I gesse if peraventure she had nat been swaddlen for the whool tyme, thys mighte nat be, but wistow, when one hath sevene childerenes hit may be a lite toilful forto haven the winde of hem alle.

Hit was Kateline who did first see the dede ydon. She shal make a mothor faire one day; hit is but a pitee she is Constanzes doghtour. She was boored and so thought to Joane might lyk to be unswaddelen a while, and neightest thow knowest, she hath taughten hir to walken! I am ful joyeuse, as nowe all my childen may walken. I made my welsnuttes famows in feste.

Yet, that bytche Constaunze hath done a grand damage! She and my Johne are togetheres ynow, and Johne wist nat of hys doghtoures werke. Mayhaps hit be time forto seke to morder hir ayein.
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Wednesday, October 18th, 2006
12:10 pm - Constaunze is swych a bitche!
Constanze hath, on thyse dey, drinken the last caudell! I listed to drinken the last caudell, a no! She dide suffre nede forto haven hit hir foule selfe! May she be made seke of hit, and be able nevere ayain foto drinken swych a licour.
Certes, I may make mower caudell ower have the cokes doon swych dede, but hit be the mattir that Constaunze should drinke the last caudell and nat freyne yf othre menn miyt wanten anye.

So in stede of hit I krakked a boteil of meede and have drinken thre of hem, and meneth me to drinke hem alle! That shal shewe hir!
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Thursday, October 5th, 2006
2:16 am
Thankes to the appelles horribles, my teth haven torned to rot. Hit is the keeleness of appelles whych doth rotten tethe, aft ale, and make hem yful with wormes. And I doe nat care yf Hildegarde was a seint, hir remedye maketh no fete. I dide abide ful long as I might, in hoope that the stabberye in my muth might goon wey, but no. So I hadde to go to the blake-smith to haven mi tethe ycuren.

I sat, and he quode: "Noble leedye, yow wist that yow may deyen from thyse?" and I sayde "Swiven hit, I would deye before lessynge my tethe to felen so!" So I satte ydoun and he gan to bete me wyth a poker on the hede until I became sleepye. Whan I woke, my toth was gone, and sin hit was so grevelees, I gave to the smith a gode coyne for his werke.

So here I be, abedde so I maye gaine my might ayain.
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