It's Vaguely Welsh Fic O'Clock
Reading the Middle English canon is much more interesting when you're simultaneously scanning it for saucy material to use for unsavoury purposes. It's not my fault de Loris and Chaucer were members of the First Curch of Perv.
This is a very roundabout way of saying there is Whovian fic behind the cut, written in highly questionable 15th century English and in rhyming couplets (pretentious!), with a parallel translation.
Title: Le Roman de la Starren, or The Evil Ex-Boyfriend's Tale
Wordcount: 1300
Pairing: Five/Ainley!Master
Rating: R
Dialect: West Midlands
Warnings: If you read this out loud it makes you sound like an angry Welshman.
A man ther was abroghd in myn countree, There was a man travelling in my country,
Who spek of Lofe from his auctoritee Who spoke of love from his own knowledge,
And whan, at Inne, was plyed with mede, And after having become drunk at an Inn,
Strokinge much his berde, did procede Stroking his beard all the while, started
To speke of an Maistre, a bourd, To speak of a Master, a dissolute person,
Forsooth he was thisse: an Tyme Lourd. Indeed he was this: a Time Lord.
This Maistre soghte his paramore, This Master sought his lover,
A comely wight yclempt Dottore, An attractive soul named Doctor,
And did the erthe's lande traverse, And travelled across the Earth's land,
And the speres of melodye dyverse, And the diverse spheres of melody,
Sekenge out his feted love, Seeking out his fated love,
Payred as Goddes turtel-dove, Paired like God's turtle-dove,
As lyke whiche brid had fled away, Which, like that bird, had run away
And soghte sayver londe to stay. And sought safer land to stay in.
And after moche strang adventoure, And after much strange adventure,
Whiche meriteth ites own tale, be sure, Which, be sure, merits its own tale,
Clept hym eyn on his deare on, He clapped eyes on his dear one,
In an garden walled al with ston, In a garden walled around with stone,
Bowynge him to pluck an rose, Bowing himself to pluck a rose,
And touchynge hym the petales close. And touching the closed petals.
Sough anoon-ryght his figure, Saw quickly and completely his body,
The moste delicat, paraventure, The most delicate, perhaps,
As the sonne upon a see, Like the sun [reflected] on a sea,
And also on his head, pardee, And also on his head, indeed,
Somme tressled lockes as goldene thread, Some long curled locks like golden thread,
His hose garland whit and red, His hose decorated in white and red,
And doblet mayde to fyt thysse kynde, And doublet designed to match,
As comely fore as was behynde, As nice-looking in front as it was behind,
With an nosegay of celerye, With a sprig of celery,
Whych he observed bemusedlye. Which he observed bemusedly.
Opened hym than entraunce-way He opened the gate
And mayde to grete streytaway And started immediately to greet
His beloved fresshe regayned His newly-regained love
Who at his fotsteps looked payned. Who looked pained at his approach.
The Maistre raysed joyvul honde The Master raised a hand happily
And speke thus in tones fonde: And said this in fond tone of voice:
'Be'st thow an help meet to me, 'You should be a fitting aid to me,
The erthe to myne spreadinge tree, The earth to my spreading tree,
The welle to myne gushinge spring, The well to my gushing spring,
In breve: we mun entre coupeling. Put briefly: we must become a couple.
It would bring me fayre jolitye It would bring me fair joy
If thou wouldst joine in bedde with me, If you would share my bed,
And consent to be myne wif. And agree to be my wife.
Forsooth,' speke he, 'by myne lif, Indeed' he said, 'by my life
I surely meant to say housbonde, I surely meant to say husband,
T'would alway be an equal bonde.' It would always be an equal bond,
Than the Dottore mad replye Then the Doctor made a reply,
With folden erm and bittre eye: With folded arms and bitterness in his eye,
'We may not speke of marriauge, 'We must not speak of marriage,
Thou fiend! Thou wearst myn frond's visage, You fiend! You wear my friend's face,
And hast myn honour oft besought, And have often sought my honour,
By thine trickes and konnyng wrought By your tricks and cunning made
T'invade myne precious sanctitye To invade my precious sanctity
And robbe myn virginitye. And rob by virginity.
I wouldst not tayke thyn marriage-bonde I would not take your marriade-bond.
Nor place myne ring upon thyn honde Or put my ring on your hand
If we were beastes of lowly measure If we were lowly animals
Having only fleshly pleasure Who only had the pleasures of the flesh
Without the prick of consyaunce Without the prick of conscience
Nor higher form of cognisaunce.' Nor higher form of cognisence.'
''Tis fit that thow shouldst speke of beastes' 'It is right that you should speak of animals'
Quod the Maistre, 'for know thisse, Said the Master, 'for know this,
Mine wedding-ply was but an farse, My request for a wedding was a ruse,
The prise I seke is ay thyne arse. The prize I look for is in fact your arse.
I woulde myne clicket fitte I would fit my key
In thyne wicket, should thow permitte.' To your gate, if you would allow it.'
'Nay thow knave,' speke the Dottore, 'No you scoundrel,' said the Doctor,
'For thyne pestel be'st wrought too broade 'For your pestle was made too large
To fit myne mortar (thenke the Lorde).' To fit my mortar, (thank the Lord.)'
'But ah myn love,' quod this Maistre, 'But ah my love' said this Master,
'I have salves severalle, 'I have several salves,
And potions in myne purse withalle And potions all in my purse
That may at once thine ardour raise That may simultaneously increase your desire
And thine entraunce fitly glase. And properly glaze your entrance.
For here, thisse gracious herb withan, For here, this gracious herb inside,
That sages call Valerian, That wise men call Valerian,
When mixed into an honeyed mede When mixed into sweet wine
With rosemarye and poppy-sede, With rosemary and poppy seeds,
May set thyn lymbes into a drowse Can make your limbs drowsy
And other partes ful arowse.' And fully arouse other parts.
Thanne the Dottore gan to speke, Then the Doctor began to speak,
In tones rather roth than meke, In tones that were angry rather than meek,
'Thou givest me an slender choice, 'You do not give me much choice,
In neither halve do I rejoyce, I do not rejoice in either half [of the options]
Submitte to thyne maistrye, Submit to your mastery,
And tak myn pleasure consioslye, And take my pleasure while conscious,
Or from thyne chalysse drinketh dep, Or drink deeply from your chalice,
And be buggered in myn slep.' And be buggered in my sleep.'
This man gave an greate sighe This man gave a great sigh
And prest his fingres to his ey, And pressed his fingers to his eye
Thanne did he speke in bref agyne, Then he spoke briefly again
'Maistre' quod he, 'thon TARDES or myne?' 'Master' he said, 'your TARDIS or mine?'
So did this Maistre tak his mayte So this Master took his mate
And led him to without the gayte, And led him to outside the gate,
And did clepe him anoon, And soon embraced him,
And yused his hondes in lewed fashioon, And used his hands lewedly,
Provoking such wanten sounde Provoking such wanton sounds
As mayde the very stones resounde. As made the very stones resound.
And thanne donne they romaunse ful ofte And then they done sex a lot
In hous and lane and barne and lofte, In the house and lane and barn and loft,
And the Dottore did oft complaine And the Doctor often complained
But didst not prevent being takene. But did not prevent being seduced.
And so to end he sette his lay, And so he set this tale to an end,
Whose moral is as clear as day: Whose moral is a clear as day:
'Nay' meaneth 'nay' except in thisse, 'No' means 'no' except in this,
Oftentimes it meaneth 'yesse'. Often it means 'yes'.
P.S. Yes, 'doctor' was part of the lexicon back then, but the Medieval Italian version sounds better.