(no subject)
It seems I've missed a good deal of action now that I've got detention to add to my worries. I guess that's fair. Had a good talk with Dad about all this, and... yeah.
I found another poem fragment crumpled up in the hall -- can you believe it? It's a bit hard to read, and with the way things are I don't have the time to edit it and make it legible... so deal.
This busy boy, as he was wont to gide
His yonge kniyghtes, lad hem up and down
In thilke large temple on every side,
Byholding all the ladies of the town,
Now here, now there; for no devocioun
Hadda he to non, to reven hym his reste,
But gan to preise and lakken whom hym leste.
And in his walk ful faste he gan to wayten
If knight or squyer of his compaignie
Gan for to syke, or let his eighen baiten
On any womman that he koude espye.
And seye him thus, 'God woot, she slepeth softe
For love of thee, whan thou turnest ful ofte!
I have herd told, pardieux, of youre lyvynge,
Ye loveres, and youre lewed observaunces,
And which a labour folk han in wynnynge
Of love, and in the keeping which doutaunces
And whan youre prey is lost, woo and penaunces.
O veray fooles, nyce and blynde be ye!
Ther nys nat oon kan war by other be.'
---
God woot, she slepeth softe
For love of thee, whan thou turnest ful ofte!
You know, dear anonymous poet, I think you have a point... I need to review my priorities here. I've got a career to build, construction to oversee, a shitload of work to do, and I think I've accidentally signed myself up as a permanent contributor to Pope's periodical (despite his cutting my Envoy!!!). I just don't have time for drama. Ye loveres! For the konnyngeste of yow, that servest most faithfully and best, you get as often harm thereof as prow, your hire is quite well paid for, God knows how!
At Dad's advice, this journal is going to be slowed down quite a great deal henceforth. I'll only be able to post maybe once a week, I think... and won't be too up on the drama as it develops, though maybe it's best that I not know.
I found another poem fragment crumpled up in the hall -- can you believe it? It's a bit hard to read, and with the way things are I don't have the time to edit it and make it legible... so deal.
This busy boy, as he was wont to gide
His yonge kniyghtes, lad hem up and down
In thilke large temple on every side,
Byholding all the ladies of the town,
Now here, now there; for no devocioun
Hadda he to non, to reven hym his reste,
But gan to preise and lakken whom hym leste.
And in his walk ful faste he gan to wayten
If knight or squyer of his compaignie
Gan for to syke, or let his eighen baiten
On any womman that he koude espye.
And seye him thus, 'God woot, she slepeth softe
For love of thee, whan thou turnest ful ofte!
I have herd told, pardieux, of youre lyvynge,
Ye loveres, and youre lewed observaunces,
And which a labour folk han in wynnynge
Of love, and in the keeping which doutaunces
And whan youre prey is lost, woo and penaunces.
O veray fooles, nyce and blynde be ye!
Ther nys nat oon kan war by other be.'
---
God woot, she slepeth softe
For love of thee, whan thou turnest ful ofte!
You know, dear anonymous poet, I think you have a point... I need to review my priorities here. I've got a career to build, construction to oversee, a shitload of work to do, and I think I've accidentally signed myself up as a permanent contributor to Pope's periodical (despite his cutting my Envoy!!!). I just don't have time for drama. Ye loveres! For the konnyngeste of yow, that servest most faithfully and best, you get as often harm thereof as prow, your hire is quite well paid for, God knows how!
At Dad's advice, this journal is going to be slowed down quite a great deal henceforth. I'll only be able to post maybe once a week, I think... and won't be too up on the drama as it develops, though maybe it's best that I not know.