Tuesday, April 03, 2007

A Letter in Earnest to Sir Brevis

In Earnest be this lettre tayk to Sir Brevis of the Dike, who art my champyon knyght.

Ryght Worshipfull Sir,

I am in grayt distress for to hear such tydyngs as to the death of thy comraydes d'arms, and knoweth that my syster Cliane, Maiden of the Thycket, is remors and besydeth herself with grayt moanynge and weepynge over the loss of her champyon, dear Sir Clarion, whom she considered high on the lyst of her Par Amours, but not as high as Prince Rowen of Estregales, who to this daye fygts for her hande.

And yet another Grayt Tragedye hath struck our lands, beynge that a Terribyle Enchantemente hath been wrought against my syster's lands on the coast of Pedigiog. A fowl sorcerer, no dowbt begat by the Fiend Himself, hath stolen the island of Ynis Ynit, where grayze Cliane's pryzed White Sheepes. He hat taken it to his owne lande to the northe, and on it now sits his Becursed Tower of the Sea. The sorcerer whoth stole Ynis Ynit is oneth and the sameth as that Count Gwyddno of Gwaelod, who murdered thy comrades d'arms, particularlye dear Sir Clarion, for whom Cliane weeps from vespers to nones, daily, and wythout stoppynge.

Also, knoweth that the bards here synge tales not to the glorye of thy comrades d'arm, who art in purgatory for only the shortest span before they attain grayce at the feet of Our Lord. The retches sygne that they violated the rules of hopitalite, and tryed to steele the Countess for Base Lust and a Golden Cup for Base Greed. Such bards have byn sygyng all in Cambria abouts, and soon no dowt will carrye into Logres and the Continent, even to Rome. And surely all who wert frynds and comrades d'arms of such brutes wouldst surely suffer the Shayme of Great Dishonor for the knowing of them.

I beseech they aide at wonce and longe for thee to reste thy head on the heavynge bosom of my grayt Thankfulness and Joy. Come my knight en arme, come and brynge thy fellows in arms, as manye as ye can muster, and do honor to me and my poor sister, Cliane, Maiden of the Thickette, who weeps for her Sir Clarion with the Virginal Tears of the Wating Damosel.

Such Devotyon to my famyle wouldst surle earn thee a playce at my table.

Wyth haste, I wryte this treatice by mine own hande, on the second day after the Mornful Festival of Ash-on-the-Head, in Jesus Nayme.

Lady Griane of the Manor of the Thawed Heart,
Riagh of the Commote of Pedigiog, Countess vassal of Kyng Lak, who art vassal of Kyng Arthyr.

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