Wednesday, 4 July 2007

Oon of hem dayes

Ich be a ryght royal messe aftyr my ferste lectio. To blogge or not to blogge - hyt is the questioun Ich han askyd me whanne Ich habbe been passen swynkeward thorough the pauementes of Westmynstre. Ich nyste noght whiche purpose hyt myghte seruyn forto wryten of som exchaunge of privy materes. Lyk a smale cogge-wheel in som juggernaute I feled, uanishynge into insygnificacioun.

And whanne Ich habbe perusyd the webbemundi in my chaumbres atte the Chauncery (where muche of myn werke for the Privye Sele beeth) Ich habbe ygooglyd my naam and hyt upon a sclanderous abomynacyoun: the so-callyd "Thomas Occleve" webbepage at som outtefytte of cuntrefeetirs yclepyd falsely "luminarium". By Seynte Loy! Hyt is nat the lyght of resoun that illumines thyse dishoneste entrie but the derke karbunkeles on the feendys buttockes. Not oonly han Ich been yputten togidir wyth that mesurelees Lewdgate felawe (that sholde ytrapped in a monasterye be) but myn werke hath ydrawen been thorough the mudde. Seeth the truth of thyse accusacyouns for youreselue, gentyle redere: "He ranks, like his more voluminous and better known contemporary Lydgate, among those poets who have a historical rather than intrinsic importance in English literature. Their work rarely if ever rises above mediocrity; in neither is there even any clear evidence of a poetic temperament." Noon temperaumente? Bulles-turde! Here is myn temperaumente! And yif thou nedest more, thou oghtest perusyn myn Compleynte before thou craftest suche bobbebales. Hyt is no jape, hyt is myn reputacyoun thou rivest.

And forto adducen insulte to iniurie, Ich am confusyd wyth Occleve on that lewed pagina (the unflatterynge peinture shawyth hym nat me). Heu, heu, quid volui misero mihi?

O mutabilitee, o cruel fortune! Ich suspecte Doctour Dereke Pearsalle or som suche cherlysshe clerke of the universitees behynde thys yvele gynne.


Johan Prentys said...

oh piteous maistir, mine senior colleague de la privye seele.

Ynoticed haue I the sclaundrous lybel spred wyde by those boarres who type upon this Ynternetium directly by copying et paysting from that venymous boke, le encyclopia brittanicum de 1910, recently mad open-source pour publicacioun a le webbemundi. yt is an abominacioun and thou shuldst tak muche offence by yt - thei are stupide critiques therin. Y have thus ylabourred ouer myn crusti bred this sext to constru thyn entry in ye encyclopedium wikipedicus to thyn benefactes. Have a loke at thys lynk when ye hast completen thyn epistres for today. I hope thy wille be plesed by myn edit of yt, and wille paien me bak with a ful cuppe of ale at Chestres Inn aftir vespers!

Calme be upon thyn hedde,

Thomas Hoccleve said...

To Iohannes Prentys be thys lettir delyveryd in haste.

Myn dere ylernyd Iohannes Prentys! Hyt is a ryght plesure to han receyvyd a lettir from you thys very daye. And the extente of yowr epistre han yfillyd myn herte wyth joye moost excellente. Thyn laboures speken of mesure & substaunce: hyt is the iuste truth that nowe shyneth thorough the newe entrie in the Vicipaedia sive libera encyclopaedia the lynke to whyche Ich habbe yupdatyd on myn blogge rolle. Thou hast deservyd to be yclepyd maister & we oughte forto to drynke in specyalle celebracyoun (though Ich may skyppe euensonge to-nyghte & hede ryght for the Chestres).

Wretyn at Westmynstre on the .ix. daye of Iuli. By yowre humble servaunt Thomas Hoccleve.