October 09, 2007

• Truly methought I should snap my hose eftsoons!
• Wonder if I could use that Introitus et Exitus accounting strategy on the next tax audit...
• I just flewe in from London, and boy, are mye arms tyred!!!
• As for a fine example, thou couldest take my wyfe. Please do!
• Respect, I receiveth not!
• What ho be-ith the deal with parkyng metres, say I.
• A vicar, a scoundrel, and a charlatan goest into a publiq house. The publican cries "and thee deville knows best! I shalt not pour!" Thus much merriment ensues.
• Forsooth, whilst engaged in the practice of lapping berry preserve from my husbande's merriwick, I did happen to think unto myself: Verily! I am become like unto my grand-dame! A most amusing thought, for it shocketh so!
• Thou shalt laughe! Thou shalt weep! Thou shalt rupture thy codpiece!
• Fie, this pellet that thou givest me to eat, savoureth all of a turd! Why, I laghed till I cryed!
• I remember reading one anecdote from the time that did really give me a chuckle. Can't recall the guy's name, but he was some famous Scots sceptic, now lying on his death bed dying from dysentery, or "the flux" as it was known. They've tried everything and he's not getting better, so eventually his loving relatives let the village wise woman come to see him. She tells him to point to the great ash tree outside the window and recite three times the charm, "Ash tree! Ash tree! Take this flux away from me." He's not too impressed at this nonsense. He points to the oak table across the bedroom and says to her, "I might as well ask 'Oaken board, oaken board, let me shit a hard turd.'" How we laughed! Then he died.
• A Gallego of Spaine went to the warres, and was shot with an arrowe into the head. The Surgeon searching the wound, said, that he could not possibly liue, for that the arrow had pierst his braine. The Gallego answered: That cannot be, for I haue no braine at all; had I had braines I trow I had neuer come to the warres. The heaving of my ribs provokes me to ridiculous smiling!
• All jesting aside, I'm amazed at how little humor progressed since Chaucer wrote The Miller's Tale, which I studied in its original Middle English along with a small group of like-minded students and it had us rolling on the floor. Translations never did it justice. I'd've thought that in a couple of centuries things would've moved beyond ass-kissing. Derk was the nyght as pich, or as the cole, And at the wyndow out she putte hir hole, And absolon, hym fil no bet ne wers, But with his mouth he kiste hir naked ers Ful savourly, er he were war of this. Abak he stirte, and thoughte it was amys, For wel he wiste a womman hath no berd. He felte a thyng al rough and long yherd, And seyde, fy! allas! what have I do? Tehee! quod she, and clapte the wyndow to, And absolon gooth forth a sory pas. "Tehee, quod she" knocked 'em in the aisles every time. *takes long, refreshing pull of mead, giggles*
• My chamber choir did Henry Purcell's setting of this one a few years back. Brought the house down. Young John the farmer, having lately got A very rich and fertile garden plot, Bragging to Joan, quoth he, "So rich a ground For melons in the world cannot be found." "That's a damned lie," quoth Joan, "For I can tell A place that doth your garden far excel." "Where's that?" says John. "In mine arse," says Joan, "for there Is store of dung and water all the year."
• Interesting - I didn't know they had melons in England in Purcell's time. These days I think the English climate would usually be considered too cold to grow them outside, though it's not impossible.
• The companion piece wasn't so much funny as just crude, but it still got a laugh because the audience wasn't expecting it. One, twice, thrice I Julia try'd; The scornful puss as oft deny'd. And since I can no better strive, I'll cringe to ne'er a bitch alive. So kiss my arse, disdaynful sow; Good Claret is my mistresse now. And I guess the fact that most of the tenors and basses had Japanese or Chinese accents did make it kind of funny.
• I thought singers didn't have an accent when they sang that highbrow stuff.
• We all know how Plegmund found a web-page entitled "melons feature." For shame.
• More raised-brow than highbrow.