Middle Ages Mumsnet

[AnyFuleKno]

Dear mumsnet, mine husband hath broken his arm falling from atop the midden. How many leeches should I apply?

Pray, dear LadyDragon, summon not the Counsil of Witchery. I fear muchly their vellum books and quills aready to inscribe such tales to tell as they discover in my garderobe and privy. My slatternly ways would be shaming for my goodman and I should surely be Cast Out

Saddly there is no 'thorn' symbol on my tryppewritter, I am stucke with 'ye' my smale firebreathynge frende.

Lovynge the receipt Mistresse Plupervert.

Yet I am wedded to my Old Wayes and Spellinges, Lady of the Dragon!

What Woudst Thou Do?

(concerning Thy problem, I counselle thee also not to partake of victuals when thy husband fasteth, lest thou feed thy other Appetites). Let then the next Day and the Sabbath be merrie Feastes of all the Hungers!)

[MmeDefarge, btw - I just discovered that the Germans still call a cloakroom a garderobe. Verrry strange conversation that was!]

Mistress Plu - doubtless thou knowest best, even if thine advice is of great age. I must betake me unto the Victuals thread and humbly crave advice.

Wouldst

'Tis most vexing, to be inexact, having set myself So High amongst the Pedantry!

MistressSugar, your sage advise shall very direct my actions..'tis well known a finely crafted embroderie shall divulge much truth, if presented with honour and humble affection

I am mych dismayed that I hath not anythingth funy to addeth.

LMarthO thoughth

Fie ye varlets, 'tis well known that if a maane fallen adoune the midden he must supply a pint of urine for ye physician to thus determine the state of his armes. Then get thee a horoscope to see if the starres foretell whereso he shalt live.

On ye outher honde, if thee be burneth at the stake, perhaps shalt thou not carest?

be sure to take note of the finne balancey of yon goodman's humours. "Tis said a he is high in Cholor.

I Wondere'd if thou wenches of ye WetNurseNette of This Newe Tinterweb of Wondrou's tymes coulde considere assistething one of your fellow sisteres..

I haveth great fear of that monstrous and wicke'd scroll which denounc'd we hagges WetNurseNette memberes..

I feeleth it be named "The Dailye Mail"

Tell me, sisteres, how shalle I dispose of this scrolle?

I am, your servant,

Madame Countess of Knackerst'ein

Mistress Plupervert, I confess, as a Peasant my learning is poor. Willst thou not proclaime the correcte conjugations of "dost," and also describe unto us the most nice and accurate way of address?

Think'st thou not that the perfection of grammar is the highest art to which one should aspire? Would that there were only somesuch standardisation of our spelling, but Alas! A Dictionary is still several hundred years hence.

'Tis shameful in mine minde that so many of our goodfolke do hearken so to the maunderings of men muche devoted to the polishing of the Mail Jerkins

LadyMouse, I have betaken myself to the Greate Page in the Square, and look'd upon the work of Scrybes there. Verily, the wording is alter'd, which didst gladden my Hearte.

Yet my Vanitie hath been cast down, for a Greate and Fearefull Doute hath assailed me: Is this Idle Banter of ours the Reale Lyfe, or the Lyfe of the Spirit? If it be the latter, why doth it smell of Lyfe and our Lustes? Surely our Spirites be not so Lusty and Cackling, with Woes of DLAM and childer, like unto Lyfe? Should the Lyfe of the Spirite not be a holy one?

Good Dame Plu, methinks that thou givest too much concern to ye spellyngs and grammar of ye age. I have it from learned scholars that these matters were not gyven much account in latter days, to the ends that ye same words be spelled differently in ye same sentence! Mayhap thou takest these matters too seryousley? [smileth]

Yet Mistress Price doth surely work for the poor in the parish, suckling their starving babes - howsoever else should she have grown such momentous and fruitful dugs?

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.

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.

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

What be these straining bars thou speakest of?

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.

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.

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?