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Feb. 14th, 2007 01:17 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lastgunslingerToday Roland is reading fiction over at a table -- or trying. Somewhere he got a copy of The Canterbury Tales -- in Middle English.
Whan that Aprill with his showres soote
the droughte of March hath perced to the roote,
And bathed every veine in swich licour,
Of which vertu engendred is the flowr;
Whan Zephyrus eek with his sweete breeth
Inspired hath in every holt and heeth
The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne
Hath in the Ram his halve cours yronne,
And smale fowles maken melodye
That sleepen al the night with open yë-
So priketh hem Nature in hir corages-
Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages...
From the look on his face, the book is shortly to be closed and ignored in favor of his tobacco pouch.
Whan that Aprill with his showres soote
the droughte of March hath perced to the roote,
And bathed every veine in swich licour,
Of which vertu engendred is the flowr;
Whan Zephyrus eek with his sweete breeth
Inspired hath in every holt and heeth
The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne
Hath in the Ram his halve cours yronne,
And smale fowles maken melodye
That sleepen al the night with open yë-
So priketh hem Nature in hir corages-
Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages...
From the look on his face, the book is shortly to be closed and ignored in favor of his tobacco pouch.
