And Ich abide.

I didn’t intend for this week to be low content, but work has other plans. In lieu of the things I intended to talk about, here is a bit of whimsy from Geoffrey Chaucer. [Addendum: Here is the blog of Geoffrey Chaucer, who wrote this, and here is his book. No, not that book.]

HEERE BEGINNETH GEOFFREY CHAUCERES TRANSLACIOUN OF THE APOCALYPSE OF THE RAPIDE MOVEMENTS OF THE EYE

‘Tis grande, yt commenceth wyth an upheaval of the erthe, and fowles and serpentes and planes of th’air, and Leonarde de Bruce hath no feare

Centre of a tempeste, heare the walminge abouten yower hearte. The worlde hys owne nedes doth serve, and ye, foole, serve yower owne nedes.

Feede yt off a [...texte corrupted...] ladder starteth clatteren wyth feare, stryfe, downe, heighte.

Wyre yn a flayme that ys an allegorie for VII maners of chesse, and a reaume for to pawne and a fielde of battel.

Moore westwarde thanne west and russhinge yn haste wyth Tisiphone, Alecto, and Megara brethinge downe yower nekke.

Scheltron by scheltron the heraldes baffled, trumpeted, bounde, quartered. Beholde the lowe playinge!

Fayre, then. What ho? Overflowe, populacioun, common goode, yet yt wil serve.

Ye ful of vitriole, lovere of Engelonde, slame, fighte, bright lighte, feelinge prettye y-psychede.

Tis th’end of the worlde as we knowe yt. Aye th’end of the worlde as we knowe yt. Ywis th’end of the worlde as we know yt. And Ich abide.

(Thys translacioun ys fulle wel difficulte. Yt ys basicallye gibberishe. Did thes folkes wryte the prophecyes of Merlin als well?)

Vesperes, rede romaunce for an hour, be cat naght yn forein toweres. Slashe and brenne, back ayein, listen as ye murmuren.

Lockinge yn, wearinge liverie, disposinge of Lollard textes, leechcraft. Ech motive bringe uppe, and automotive lat burne.

Lighte a taper, light a votive. Step adoun, step adoun. Wacche yower heele crusshe, and eeek crusshed.

What ho? Thys doth signifie thou shalt have no feare, chevalier. Renegade, passe by! A tourney, a tourney of falshoodes.

Ye bringe to me soluciounes, ye brynge to me alternatives, and Ich declyne.

The othir nighte Ich dremede of knives, continental drafte divide, mountaynes sitte yn a line – POPE LEO THE NINTHE.

‘Tis the ende of the worlde as we knowe yt – ‘Tis the ende of the worlde as we knowe yt. (Nuuuuuunc mihi invenire solitudinem necesse est.)

HEERE ENDETH GEOFFREY CHAUCERES TRANSLACIOUN OF THE WELL NIGH INCOMPREHENSIBLE APOCALYPSE OF MICHAEL DE ESTYPE

Greetinges to so manye newe followeres. Yt semeth Ich have underestimatede the popular inereste in songes concerninge the ende of the world.

[Oh hey, I do a lot of goofy stuff on Twitter, but I'm not LeVostreGC and had no hand in this. Just sharing it because I liked it!]

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