Middle Ages Mumsnet

elephntjelly if thou had wit thou wouldst know the 'dark ages' f which you speak, did comence around the tiem of the leaving of the Rman tyrants from our shores, and is also known to the bookish scholar as the 'early medieval period'. I'faith there is also a late medieval period, which is not called the 'dark ages'.

The daemon known as 'wikipedia' did tell me thysse.

now take thou thine eyen from this screed, and take thee hence, to thine dwellinge 'neath yonder bridge.

Y thinke ye preestes sounde muche goode for wommyn!

(Foryeve; hit ys moche werke to write as thu dost; Ich be bot a sely wommyn of the Middil-Ages, and straunge to this newe speche!)

Where canne I fynde myne self a wyllyng and comely preeste, hastily?!

Be not afrayde, Goody Dragonne, Y avised thy poste.

Minde ye, thou hast hadde mentioune of ye "southren tonge", hwich semed moste fittinge to mine poste.

Y am most sadde to heere that thine goodman liketh not to taste of ye carpette of womankinde, Y am mynded to retourne agayne nexte Sabbathtide to catche ye younge priestlinge again amongste ye cassockes, and discouvert furthere, Be I Far Fromme My Wittes?

Y haue mayde the crossyd-poste:

Y spoke vnto mystresse elephantsjelly, not mystresse elephantsandmisasmas.

Mystresse miasmas, thys 'rugge-munchinge' of whyche thou spekist soundeth most queynte - shall I speke vnto myne husband, to see if hys manly wisdome can caste some light onto places that are darke in our womanlie understondying?

Sadly to seye, I trow he will speke little of ye aforesaid past-time; I thinke it be littel to hys likynge!

Dame elephant, thu thinkist nou3t ri3tly! This Englische has moche goode I trow, and is nau3t Elizybethan - for Ich can nou3t ymagine a wommyn as quene!

Perhaps thu redyst nou3t the Englyysh of the Northren Englonde? Yt ys moche the bettir and more nobil than the southren tunge, the whicche these folys speke.

Methinkys thou art a so-callid 'stuck-up southerner', peradventure?

Matteres of ye Leman

My erstwhile scrolle hath givenne detayles of the shamefulle idlenesse of mine husbande. This day aftere offerynge prayeres to Godde at Holy Masse I thoght to repaire to ye Preyste of ye village, seykinge wordes or wyse counseille. Yette I was most o'ercome to finde onlie ye young priestlinge, a comely youthe of some ane-and-twentie summeres, in ye churche of ye Magdalene. He hath tolde me manie holye wordes, and advysed me to disrobe myself thatte he might anointe me with holye wattere to drive the daemons of malcontente fromme my wickede forme. He hath thenne touched me manie and divers waies and hath offerede to show me the servyce of "rugge-munchinge". Avisinge notte hwat thisse miyte bee, I gather-ed mine vestements and scarper-ed from ye sacristy. Surelie this be some Saracenne sinfulnesse, for tis sure thatte I have nevere herde of ye rugges in the hovels of ye Godly Folke.

In hwat wyse miyte I prepare mine selfe for Holie Masse nexte Sabbathtide?

Tansye, I can assure Ye, my Lorde Uthred is equally welle equipped in the broadsworde department, and knows exactly how to use it !

Mistress Elephant, surely thou knowest that the goode women of thys village do naught butte trye to amuse themselves?

I wouldst suggest that thou get thyself to the apothecary most quick and avail thyself of the 'transplantyng of humoure' remedie thatte I am tolde is famed for its effiacy.

'tis just a thought.

Godwyfe Bebbenborg, thy kyndnesse comforteth me grately. Prayye warne thy goode lorde Uthred that my lorde of Gysborne is a felle knyght indeede and steeped in alle synfole matieres suche as thysse olde wenchynge of whyche ye spake.

He is alsoe possessedde of a exceeinglye large broadsworde. I truste thy deare lorde Uthred is similarlye blessede, if notte more fulsomely, or I feare it wyl go ille for hym.

Begone, Mother Elephant. Thy wagon awaits.

Yea, shall we wax mediaeval upon the buttockks of our Scape-Goate?

goodwife elephant, thou lackest a senseth of humoureth. go screweth thyself.verily!

Tansy, I know not of this Robyne o? ye Hodde of whom thou dost speaketh. I do have a hunky Saxon by the name of Uthred who would be more than happy to pay your Lorde Gysborne a visit and teach him what's what when it comes to Ye olde wenching.

Goodwife Elephant.
A pox on thy comments! Thys thread ys lyght harted and pureley for our entertaynement! Dost thou not know that learning and knowledge are the domain of menne, get thee back to thy housewyfery and trouble thee not with suche thyngs! [hmmeth]

Sacre Bleu, elephant ( a creature of whych we havest nottest heardest of yet).

Tis so much more mirthful that our Medieval Englysh is so shite-est.

Ah, goodwife elephant (surely an anachronism) get thee back to the tower of rigorous historical intellectual similitude....

we shall merrily, yeah, skip centuries and play wilybeguiled with language as it pleaseth our poor intellects...

Godewyves of Mumsnette, I crave pardonne for I know not whether this postynge shudde be for ye boke of employemente yssues or thatte of covens and ye unnatural regimentes of womene.

Prayye hearkene to ye plyghte of a simple kychene wenche formerlye employed at ye Fortresse of Notynghame.

A s?en-nyte paste was I summonede from my lawfole dutyes with ye pasternakes to assiste in ye ablutiones of ye not so noble lorde Gysborne.

When I did scrubbe his backe, he did most sorelye berate me that I layeth not on fole lustilye. Suche was my confusione that I let falle ye soappe into ye tubbe, upon whyche he waxed mortale wrathe and stoodeth up in alle hys synfule nakednesse, causinge me to flee ye chambre in grate distresse.

My lorde thenne vouchsayfeth hys felle complaynte unto ye managemente, who hath synce bade me to get me gonne from thence..

Pleas to Robyne o? ye Hodde to come and sortte them outte are of no avayle

Canne I now hie me to a atorneye atte lawe and sue for ye wrongfule dysmyssale?
Or wode it garnere me more of sylver to speake of ye harassemente of ye carnal kynde?

This is a pile of pantaloons, there is no way there was this level of english in the medieval england. It was called the dark ages for a reason you know. Chuck in a bit of french and saxon and you might have something but this is stupid. Have you not read original Chaucer? This is Elizabethan at best.

Good Wymen of't Global Village. Prithee helpest me.

Some famylies are known to have 70 groats, and no tithes to help em owt, yet other families may only have 20 groats and a dwelling place from't Council of Elders.

They all throwest buns at each other. 'Tis making me titter.

What be these straining bars thou speakest of?

Goodwife Saggy. Mayhaps engaging with ye wise woman of ye straining bars in readiness for thy 'time', that prepared may ye be.

Nay, Nay and Thrice Nay!

< runness to Churche >

< dons hair shite >

< flagellates selfe >

She doth have an affinity with equestrian beasts however, she must be at one with God's creations.

Yet a Maid, I skimme moste faste these Postes of wenching and the like.

I querie thus: by Midsummer will we be wed, my Love and I. While my Smock and Peticotes be stitch'd, and the Meats and Honey-wine be listed for the Feaste, is it decreed that the Children of the Village be in attendance when we knit our Love's handfasting knot?

The Younge are deare to me, yet I cannot play at Maypoles while in my brydalle gowne, nor seems it juste that they be symplie cast before a Magicke Screen of moving shaypes.