mere_de_vii (mere_de_vii) wrote,
mere_de_vii
mere_de_vii

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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.
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