#my fair Ladye

[ajscico]

🐈 🔮

🐈 - If you had to pick, cat or dog?

Dogs. I have two. I’ve had cats. I know nearly any pet can be socialized to be friendly but a cuddly dog is better.

🔮 - What's a paranormal or scary encounter you've had?

So my dad passed a few years ago. The day after he passed my mother’s family descended on the house with good intentions but poor execution. Through the entire day, one of the relatives had been jumping on my sibling for mishearing what he said. Finally, after receiving another dinner from yet another neighbor, said relative followed us out to the freezer where we were going to be storing the food, the whole time talking about how “it hadn’t hit us yet but…” and “your mom is gonna need support…” and yeah. Long story short, relative misheard my sibling again and was about to jump on him again when some camping supplies we had on a shelf rattled, shifted and scared the relative out of the rant.

We still say it was Dad telling relative to “knock it off.”

—

It’s either that or my brother has a haunted skeleton in his car that loves scaring his fellow students, the cops in his college town, and me when he brings his car home as she literally turns of her own accord to stare at me when I get into my car while he is home. 😅

[finleyforevermore]

💌 Send this to the twelve nicest people you know or who seem to have a good heart and if you get five back you must be pretty awesome 💌

Thank you so much Ladye!!! 💖💖💚💖

[adrift-in-thyme]

For the follower milestone prompt (congratulations by the way!!) perhaps some BotW Zelink (it can be pre- or post-Calamity) celebrating a nice, wholesome, cozy holiday in Hebra?

Tysm Ladye!! <333 And thanks for the prompt!! It’s been too long since I wrote botw Zelink. I forgot how much I love them

————————

Zelda bursts through the door of the little cabin, breathless with laughter. Snow scatters in her wake. It drips from her cap and coat and boots, splattering in icy chunks on the flooring.

“Hey!” Comes a shout from behind her. “Zelda, no fair!”

She whirls around to grin at the figure digging himself out of the snow. His blonde locks hang limply, freed from their usual ponytail. He brushes them out of his eyes with a gloved hand.

“I’d say it was perfectly fair,” she retorts, playfully. “After all, it wasn’t my fault that you happened to trip.”

“I didn’t trip.” Link drags himself upward, shaking his head viciously to get the snow out of it. Zelda is reminded of one of the stable dogs. “I miscalculated.”

Zelda laughs and it feels so wonderful that it almost brings tears to her eyes.

This is what she loves about Link — well, one of the many things. He makes her laugh as no one else ever could. Except, perhaps, for Mother.

And now, with the Calamity gone and Hyrule on the mend, she feels she can finally afford such a declaration of joy. She wonders if he feels the same way. He certainly feels freer now that it is all behind them, now that he is no longer bound to the persona of the silent knight.

This boy who stands beside her by choice, not because of duty, this boy with a dirt eating grin and cheeks flushed by the brisk wind – he is how she imagined the Link Mipha had told her about, the jovial adventurer that the Zora princess had known, yet Zelda had never had the privilege to meet.

He lunges for her now, sensing her momentary distraction, and she stumbles back with a shriek. They tumble through the doorway, all puffy winter clothes and wet icy slush and warm limbs. She comes out on top, pinning him to the ground. He grins up at her.

“You never told me you were willing to cheat, princess.”

Zelda sniffs. “Why would I tell you such a thing? Besides, I did not cheat.”

“I’m the best shield surfer in Hyrule.” Link pushes himself up onto his forearms and Zelda sits back so he can get into a seated position. “So, you had to have cheated.”

“Selmie is the best shield surfer in Hyrule,” Zelda corrects him, haughtily. “And who’s to say I’m not a natural at the sport?”

Link considers that for a moment, lips pursed as he thinks.

“Okay fine,” he says, finally, with a pouty huff. A smile is struggling to break through though, and Zelda can’t help but chuckle as he bites his lip to keep it back. “I acknowledge your completely fair victory.” He rises and holds out a hand to help her to her feet. “And to celebrate, I’m gonna make us some cocoa.”

They both slip into some dry clothes and Link gets a cheery fire going in the fireplace. Then, as he melts chocolate over the stove, Zelda mops up the mess from their playful scuffle. Soon, the cabin smells of sweets and hickory smoke. The scents dance in the air, heavy and warm.

By the time she has finished cleaning up and fetching a blanket for them to share, Link has drained the dark, milky substance into two mugs. He walks into the living room and with a smile, offers Zelda one of them.

She inhales deeply, reveling in the heat of the cup between her palms and the soul-warming scent.

“Thank you, Link, this smells delicious.”

He sits down on the couch, tugging the blanket with his free hand so that it is situated over both his legs and hers.

“Once you taste it, you’ve gotta tell me if it’s better than any fancy stuff you had in the castle.”

Link snuggles close to her and she leans in to him. Long gone is the time when they had kept a respectful distance, playing the part of princess and hero. This, at least, this easy proximity has been carried over from the days before the Calamity. Those days when they traveled long together and their boundaries slowly fell away…and were never rebuilt.

They had been friends then, Zelda can see now. Good friends. These days, she wonders if perhaps they are toeing the line toward something more.

But those are thoughts for another time. For now, she pulls her feet up on the couch, sighing as she enjoys the warmth and comfort of this moment.

“I assure you,” she murmurs, “that this cocoa is superior to anything from the castle.”

All of this is superior, she thinks as he rests his head on her shoulder. The past had had its joys, of course. But now…now she is truly happy.

They sip their cocoa in sleepy, companionable silence, curled close to one another, fingers entwined, watching the fire’s endless dance. Tomorrow they will put up a tree and decorate it. Tomorrow they will enjoy each other’s company anew.

It will be lovely. But…

Zelda sighs, slightly. “I wish this could last forever.”

Gently, oh so gently, Link plants a kiss on her cheek. He smells of smoke and cocoa and a scent that is woodsy and fresh and distinctly him. She turns to him and he is smiling, shy and hesitant.

“Who says it can’t?”

Zelda grins.

He’s right, she thinks, as warmth blossoms within her. These moments need not remain during the holidays alone. The world is at their fingertips.

This feeling need never end.

And perhaps, that wonderful feeling is what inspires her to do it. Or perhaps, the cold has simply gotten to her head. Because in the next moment, she leans forward and kisses him.

Link doesn’t pull back like she fears he will. Instead, he leans forward, calloused hand cupping her cheek. He is still so gentle with her, as though she is a vase bound to break. Yet, there is something else there when he returns the kiss, something she feels in her very soul.

It is as though he has been waiting for this moment forever. Just as she has.

The kiss is short and the slightest bit awkward, but undeniably soft. And when they separate, Zelda can hardly think past the explosion of butterflies in her stomach, all happiness and disbelief and flat out terror.

She is speechless for a moment, unsure whether to apologize or laugh or perhaps merely burst into tears. But then Link takes her hand in his and all that seems to flee.

“Did I ever tell you how much I missed your smile?” He asks.

Zelda blinks and shakes her head. Her brain no longer seems capable of functioning.

“I don’t…well, no I don’t believe you did.”

Link brushes a stray hair behind her ear. “Well, I did. Every day.” He tilts his head, grins. “I’m glad I get to see it now.”

“Link, I…”

Link leans forward again, just slightly. An invitation. Zelda lets the words die off in her throat.

She smiles. And she kisses him again.

[edmundhoward]

Hello! I read a theory that one of the famous allegedly Katherine Howard portraits (the one with the necklace also found on Jane Seymour, where she is gazing sort of sideways to the viewer; not the one where she is dressed allll in black, if that makes sense) is actually Anne of Cleves? When I view them side by side I can kind of see it. What do you think?

✨ terfs/zionists fuck off ✨

i don’t have a committed opinion on it. the sitter is a royal woman in 1540-1541; the necklace shared with jane seymour suggests that. beyond that, i am not unwilling to accept the sitter is anne of cleves, i’m just not convinced by franny moyle’s reasoning, and hers is the main argument i have seen put forward for it to be identified as anne, and has been accepted by heather r darsie, anne’s biographer: “thanks to research by franny moyle, whose recent biography on hans holbein is quite comprehensive, it is now known that a miniature sometimes identified as katherine howard, henry's fifth wife, is more likely to be of anne”.

firstly, i have never liked the argument of resemblance. it’s too subjective, and so many women have been claimed to be one sitter or another based on supposedly looking like someone, which i always find to be relative. what one person sees and interprets isn’t reliably what someone else sees, and visual similarities aren’t sufficient on their own in a medium like portraiture, where the appearance could be manipulated. i personally don’t think the sitter looks that much like anne of cleves, which reiterates my point that it’s subjective. on a similar note, i dislike the argument that the sitter “doesn’t look like a child bride”, for similar reasons. this is of course ignoring the fact that we can’t be certain of katherine’s age, as i agree she was most likely very young, but that is also an argument one could make.

so! to challenge moyle’s arguments:

i think the most crucial counter-arguments to moyle’s identification of anne of cleves is that there is no real evidence of holbein using cards to signify hidden meaning, and that his use of cards is too inconsistent to identify symbolic patterns. this is something moyle herself acknowledges in the footnotes, stating that “holbein’s own practice in this respect [the preparation of mounts, i.e. cards] is unrecorded”, so we simply don’t know enough about his methods to base identification so heavily on the portrait being on a four of hearts. why would anne be the four of hearts, when legally she was only henry’s second wife since his marriages to catherine of aragon and anne boleyn were annulled. where trends can be identified (across holbein and his contemporaries, horenbout and clouet), it doesn’t support moyle’s claims about the secret messaging holbein intended: as karin leonhard has argued that “the ace of diamonds appears to have been reserved for royalty” and “the queen’s portrait, especially, was repeatedly painted on a queen card”.

there is also a notable discrepancy between contemporary descriptions of anne and her identification. moyle argues that “hall remains an unreliable witness [and] the term ‘fair’ could equally apply to light brown as well as blonde hair”, citing the 1809 publication of hall’s chronicle. but when i checked the same publication, the description specified that anne’s hair was fair and yellow: “the ladye anne […] her here hangyng downe, whych was fayre, yelowe and long”. so it feels misrepresentative for her to omit the specific detail of anne having ‘yellow’ hair. further, roland hui has also pointed out that moyle is being very selective here: “moyle’s dismissal of the chronicler as ‘an unreliable witness’ is puzzling, given that she used hall as a source regarding anne’s clothing”. true, chronicles — by their very nature (being written for their benefactor, and not often a first hand account) — are not necessarily the most reliable evidence. likewise, blonde/golden hair could be in compliance with a late medieval visual archetype, recalling depictions of the virgin mary, associations with the halo/wheat (fertility), gold (nobility), youth (innocence/virginity), but these are the sorts of things moyle could have engaged with in her inquiry, and elected not to, bypassing it entirely by misrepresenting the source.

i also wish moyle had acknowledged other details used to identify the sitter as katherine howard, such as the sitter’s jewellery corresponding with items in katherine howard’s inventory, and descriptions of gifts given to katherine by henry. additionally, i would have been interested to hear her thoughts on the miniature’s provenance, as it has a history with the howards. before entering the royal collection in the 1660s, it belonged to thomas howard, 21st earl of arundel, and whilst we don't know where he got it from, most of his collection was inherited from john lumley, who had a connection to the howards after katherine’s death, (& who also apparently had an anne boleyn portrait that subsequently disappeared sometime after being damaged by fire in 1773). and just to be clear: it is also worth remembering that the lumley collection also had anne of cleves (louvre) portrait alongside christina of denmark’s (ng london). moyle does not discuss this provenance in her book, either way.

i do, however, think it is interesting how popularly people latched onto this particular theory, when there is nothing substantively supporting it, when there have been numerous other theories is identifying other women (margaret douglas, mary monteagle, etc.) as the sitter of the royal collection holbein miniature, based on equal amounts of evidence, which haven’t gotten anywhere near as much traction or popular acceptance. it feels notable that people are more willing to accept it as a queen than a random woman.

it’s definitely worth pointing out that franny moyle is a popular non-fiction author, not a tudor art history specialist, and i do feel slightly concerned at how uncritically accepted popular authors are, and how their work (while not to be completely dismissed!) are being treated as equal to that of actual scholars, within the wider context of increasing anti-intellectualism and the challenges that academics are finding in producing work that is being made widely accessible. no disrespect to her, but it is something that is disappointing and worrying to me. it is simply goofy that people are treating her like some kind of expert… and not as a woman who is simply writing shit for money.

[louwhose]

louwhose art masterlist

Instagram | Drawing tag

Commissions

STUPIDLY PRETENTIOUS

The Legend of Zelda

Zelink Week 2024: (SS) Under the Stars, (BotW) Fading, (MC) Blooming, (EoW) Enchantment, (AoL) Spellbound, (OoT) Sealed Fate, (ST) Reunion

Fable/Legend DTIYS, Idiot hair Link, Heaven's DTIYS, Twi's Skyrim AU, ALBW Rumors,  ghost link/ witch zelda, LU camping, ladye’s daybreak, lively bunch, LOZ sketch dump

Breath of the Wild

Zelda in Shining Armor (my comic)

Zelink Week 2022: One Last Look, Age, Rainy Day, Statue, Sparring, Rituals, Healing

Swords and Storms Cosmere Inktober: Puppet, Weapon, Glass, Chains, Flame, Miscreant, Lantern

Linktober: miniature | adventure pouch | boat/ship/vessel | nostalgia | secret | link | boss | storm | dream | zelda | deity | botanical

Link, Link but in a cool pose, March of the Koroks, Zelink Reunion, Zelink braids, Divine Zelda, Champions meme, Zelink in Gerudo outfits, Calvin and Hobbes Zelda and Link, Zelink kiss comic, Tebasaki Tackle, You are my Sunshine, "Pure" friends, Stained glass monster, Speedrunning a century meme, Anne AU, Swords and Storms AU, S&S incognito, Zelda pixie cut, Zelink reunion redraw, Witch Zelda, Fall Under Your Spell, Battle & Overgrown, Halloween Scholomance AU, I’m Not That Girl, Link would be best dad, Christmas zinc, link_inofficial, The Fallback Plan DTIYS, Physical Touch for Keik, Redraw, Loftwing Letters Zelink, Down Bad Christmas Link, OoT Parallels, Written in the Stars, chrsmsmsmss, Redraw (again), A Mother’s Love

Tears of the Kingdom

"BotW 2" with BACKGROUND, Dramatic BoTW 2 Link, Feral Link BoTW 2 prediction,  BotW 2/ LOTR animation, After the announcement, Ghost, After February Trailer, Journey, Save Him, B’s DTIYS, fond goodbye, Ruben’s Study

Ocarina of Time

Starting struggles, Zelink meet CUTE

Play-by-play sketchdumps: first, second, third + Shink, fourth, final

Expression meme: Link, Sheik, Golden Trio

smol zelink, Ending sad, OoT/ Stormlight, OoT 24th anniversary, 100% cannon secret marriage mistletoe kiss, Skipping Stones | Zelinktines Day 20: Meet Cute, OoT Zelink flangst, Zelink/Deku Mountain Greek inspired, Impertinence, BoTW Parallels, butch impa, wedding shink, magical girl, shink kiss, 200 DTIYS, masks, Sheik-xedo mask, fireboy and water girl, Impa drawing meme

Skyward Sword

Zelink at the start of the game, Groose on the surface hehe, Link with Nightblood, Loftwing Sunset, Sky sandals, Zelink hug, Play with Me, angy link, sweet DTIYS entry

Wind Waker

telink redesign, ocean adventures, Watery Smile, fancy goth vibes telink, recruit uniforms, telink dynamic

Spirit Tracks

Hand holding, birds, Ethereal

Minish Cap

Minish Cap Beginnings

Ren Faire Week: (1) Meeting, (2) Market, (3) Token of Favor, (4) Tournament, (5) Archery, (6) Dancing, (7) Until Then

Sousou no Frieren

sketches

Dwight in Shining Armor

Expression memes: 1, 2, 3, 4

Shining Smooch Week 2023: Yesterday, Marigold, Crown, Gothic, Heart, Wanderlust, Hero

Dwetta, A kiss like fireworks, Dwetta christmas, Baldric’s Koi fish, Sir Dwight, gotta kill this guy meme, Cow Advocate, Pie Knight, Dwetta (A2), Bald x Hexy F1

Cosmere

Swords and Storms Cosmere Inktober: Puppet, Weapon, Glass, Chains, Flame, Miscreant, Lantern

Rithmatist characters, Vin, Fancy Vin, Vin and Elend flirting, Melody + Icecream, Link with Nightblood, Miraculous / Stormlight Crossover, Swords and Storms AU, S&S incognito, OoT/ Stormlight, Soaring through the mists, rithmatist pose

Other

Hamin's Flower (Seasons of Blossom), Totally not a king Hesho (Starsight), That dallymart scene in turning red, Yona and Shirayuki, The spy family!!, Anya Smirk/punch (SPY x FAMILY), Anya Peanuts (SPY x FAMILY), Scholomance The Last Graduate vibes, Sesshomaru, TwiYor snuggles, Goblin, El and Orion <3 (Scholomance), FMAB Expression meme, Cecil (Answer Me, My Prince), Edwin, Defiant, slugs and delvers, Wonka, Volo and Akari, Ides of March, Apothecary diaries, Normal jk mafuyu, sketch dump

My Stuff

Fantasy OC???, Witch, Villainess Idiots (OCs), Mermaid Unicorn, Villainess Expression Meme OCs, sky island dragon

[ladye-zelda]

My Faire Ladye:

Do not let stupid people dictate what you choose to write or what makes you happy. If it's Wild, go wild 😜. Anyone complaining about what gets written can go stuff it. They can write/draw/create their own things. You're doing this for fun and for you so do the thing that makes you happy. Most people will either be the "two cakes" meme or they'll learn to filter

❤️

Thank you, Anon. You’re right, I shouldn’t let people’s opinions hinder from what I love doing. I’m sort of a people pleaser, and I understand the frustration people feel when seeing a specific popular thing over and over. I just didn’t want to be part of the problem, but I am a hypocrite 😓

Thank you for your words of encouragement, it helped a lot 🫂🫂🫂

[libidomechanica]

She goes left

A sonnet sequence

               1

Thus much she view’d each other agents aim at like a criminal. She goes left. Were never shake? To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things end in love and indistinct, nor stopp’d this poem every reader. At this time I hunt for death, while shadow had forgot, a pretty person, any commonwealth would slay us. Be not self-will’d, for the presented, and rave, and never did’st me good, nor ever fair; o’er the common weed the sea nymphs round himself at sea, sailing frown. Hath he hung his lance, his batter’d in his sheet of sorrows that were divine; where permitted to emerge from his soft groin.

               2

Seems to owe naught to kiss your Valentine. With commonplace book argument of time, ’ quoth she, desire sees best see, for a’ the young against all hell. Of those that pay the deep Atlantic ocean that’s how deep is my devotion deep as the star-gazers, having so overwrought with sacred majesty of Doris, and belabour’d it to grow; but, after a drowsie day?—Gently, Brother! And of the body torn and bruised, as the destiny; but she press’d his lip to hers, and thus said, impatient. Still she gazed, but not half raught ere it be self- kill’d soil. Who sees his love, how gone in woe!

               3

Succumbing to Her unconditional love? If it should cease and the saddle-bow; if thou praise is shame. How many times since held his corpse, to find names of the blood oft came at last: if twice you kiss you: but when Adonis lies; two glasses where’er thy grave: meantime Apollo plucks me by the throng to hear how her eyes as the Simoom sweeps the blood, and mark in this darker Draught draws up her Veil. Have bared their hands and for that mainly by the ear, that never seeded or unfastened, you of my hairs; if they do swell and purpos’d to contented, so thou wilt be my ain. The tattoo pulsing just above your nipple, can find, as if she said No’. Why, all the night from your evil eye and all my nightly dreams till Triton blew his horse. Feel palpitations when thou art the next are such as enables man to my horse, a horse should close! For rich caparisons or trapping gay?

               4

The very part was controlled with seal’d eyes, that I shall still be there. Doubled the Dardanelles, waiting for theirs whose desperate seas long as the foam that friendly monster of despair, she vail’d her eyes nor ears, that I recoiled feeling suddenly dismayed. I sigh’d, and look mildly appalled. Will not read these wonder what shall at one time, when fires of flame through the Gothic windows of thine,—though our undivided me a spoil amongst them. Within his death thou departest; and that they saw not in thee, Moon! The love that love should Fate sic pleasure which it self destroies. Tis Lambro—’t is my love and the solemn fast thou take thy rest, my throbbing heart submit, embracing loose desires which are Holy Land! That skims, or dives, or sleeps, ’twixt cape and cape. Love’s fuellers, and the moon are above, over the sense and in awe. From inns of molten blue. The army-surgeons made him take a knot.

               5

How kenst thou wouldst hunt the boar provok’st such weeping in wait whole days for your moments to invite all the cold Lip I kiss’d how many times since held his shadow makes his owne: and for Perigot the Pledge, which it fears to lose their tender years, and look on the sun and the rank mist they draw, rot inward light, from whose rules who do swerue, and firmer faith no ladye—love desires which I plight: and Lo! That now is done with it a tear be she leaned her gentle shears cut short, and once more said: juan from the mountains lie. But be confess; nor let the watery main, increase why should touch another’s woe.

               6

And the cradle wants a cod: i’ll no gang to my bed, until I heartbreak him, and the cradle wants to get out. That i may go unto himself is reft from her twining arms, at least shall I lay my head, and said among that is past, my horse, and rills in undistinguish slopes and ripe-ear’d hopes. Bearing a Vessel of my Purse tear, and over Glaucus stood apart, waiting for foul hypocrisy designed: she treated him as something like it, as bear witness Luther. Nay, do not struggling for very joy mellifluous sorrows tear that finkle heart on fire: sith in this promising and long, long deserts scorch the camel’s foot, without be rich no more. Each shell and still the hundreds reach’d some gaiety and grac’d to be in oil of roses drowned the spring appeared the blood oft came and anger ashy-pale; being so offended late, because that Mars, growne slacker in her e’e?

               7

And set their gaze ripe from hue-golden sphere. What, without stroke, subdueth! But I’ll devise, among that sorrow through that dark eye’s mutual-darted flame; for she, too, which adorn the festoon of their hand there will stay on your broad main doth wilfully appear. Than how to hold a sheep-herd steeks his face so gracious numbers are alike in this flea our two loves there. Impossible because the crown of all his batter’d Caravan starts for thy, my selfe will have his day. Doth quench them in statlier glorie shine, but I can send, or vainly spend, for the whole lengths of miles when thou read my stanzas back.

               8

How I admire them do crave. Whose full perfect witness—it must be contented: when the sun’s, and all my soule, thou wonder, Mr. That any laud thereof spends her mangling eye, flying alone on the brook. The warld’s wealth, when she saw them link’d in passion joined them. And troubled. And pray persuade him take a knot. Most excellently ravell d. Together, a second sex! Into joint narrative: The vessel bound by the rout that you cannot be for non-payment that they are their last day! Thieves trifles, unwitnessed with her they did the prima donna and the day I sought forth the fire?

               9

These reports, because some special blest, by new unfolding his boisterous and contemplative, men, who partake perforce, at last he rose, the violet? Weary, unless when I cross’d, the market scarce fit for ballads in the kitchen, coffee in her e’e? Landed in the milk of heaven, when a dream; if smiles, miles and anxieties and rivals threatening headlong to that old wood where I made one—turn down and father’s bed; the rising sun in war paint dyes us red; in broad daylight her cause: and all, some twenty ages gather from the ship soon, because you will know, and that is my part.

               10

But first I dwelt whole days and play in, trust me, then leaped aside. Not for thy soft lips imprinted, what bargains may I make, still tell to those frequent doctor and Saint, and will be, no other Road enters and their colours had deck’d her out in some shape; let none thing is love? Affection’s sentinel; gives false or true, but one respect, though I’ve no more. Filling with dearth, painting he lies fast asleep, where Destinies, to cross the cushats wail, and manfully the daily new and stream. Some twine about her thought, to leave for kings, imperious succession of love, her champion mounted, through her.

               11

That froth’d on him, now on the grove where their flairing, idle toys, amid them hither waft it, and in silent shore, chain’d, and marrow was turned myself depart doth trust in the mid-day sun. How heavy do I journey on the gracious light like the twilight is yet, till the Cup: what boots it to repeat how Time is spent, ’ Why, what men unborn shall move towards the soul, seems to owe naught to their naval cells, a porter at the cloudes, hey ho Perigot, I left the grime of day break from the knee and fled. Of Iris, when I moved on the strong-neck’d steed, his art with looks intense one would stray, the pair!

               12

Would pass to wash the footmarks, one by one. A nest for myself to immortality’s harsh and crude, and with its death-wound, its patterned disarray less willing loan; that’s how deep is my deadly bullet of a gun, his meaning struck into his hide; which dost thou leave me thus to the violet, the glowing ships; over blowing seas wash far away; if on another’s eye! Flower, sweet lips murmur’d—Gently, Brother, gentle! Do grow; but, after all, t is nothing more than well be tasted: make sweet kisse. In such a cup hast thy sweet Highland And Titan, tired in the Closet lays.

               13

Of flutes and viols, ravishing his boisterous and constant memory of an angry- chafing boar, under whose birth, wealth, worth have them all at last. New growth about to take advantage slip; beauty hath not able is to do, young men thrall and still temptations; doubled the Dark? Of trumpets, shouting far and wide, sam slips between her teeth but not with him to hear you call my name. Of greene saye, the grass she link’d her champion mountain-top—the sage’s pen—the poet’s harp—the voice of friends. A breeding spy, this cant would have its head, and then of thine. In her lips are conquers where his words begun.

               14

To drive infection comes to blast the moon be still they are still as loving songs in the bass, the brain being to behold my hand, asleep, powers of the ministring stars or glowing pearls pale as the fountain, my church the grey-hair’d creature, that he could groan for mercy. A poet could not been attack’d in sailing from Livorno by the lingering day; but far the miles are wonders he had spoke, too—it might be in sport—of the seaman, tempest to their queen means they crop—was the sound of these, who dead, deserve our best remember: the sallow walls, formica counter with the name day?

               15

Whether by choice or common forms have wound seem three; and thence the Life has died, and trace it in themselves with hoarsest thunders! And there they not the meeting clouds that she might win. The headache and flattering they touch, appal. Misfortune be: this to you: when your sweet love’s plea. Th’ indifferent purposes and proud, because thereof, both of the Sea, that came into shadow,—truth I must be cool’d; else, suffer’d, it will be my deer, since which, in disentangling eye, as cleare as the body as well as mine, no shape so true, no truth or a something as necessary as thine, my Katie?

               16

But now was not made throughout the swelling in her e’e? The picture of clouds and sigh to midnight listens to the deep glen; thou wast begot; to get it is to play, falls to shrewd tutor, that he purchast of me in this, how little being dead the little house is thin, to cold, has some good notes; and that brings all are but a shadow shadows thee! Sitting upon a hill. Elect must do the third daughter they have to thee shall not die till mutual arms devout and true, sprang sublime discovery of her way. It was a phrensy which doth dishonour her, is ages blame, But O the heart.

               17

And I was numb with a key, and down, and where some buried once, and of the word he said; free vent of words love’s decease: yet this one is old and quick in turning; my beauty of her hue, how when thou hast but lost the fair of Lugo, but next, when fires of Love, she can, she can trippe it very weary, to use more gold begets. Thee do mock my strength, nor from my soul from others being spread on it their prime rot and contemplative, men, who partake perforce, since then have I seen the sunlight inside walls of the Two Worlds so learned man could give it thee again, as from my rock and endeth.

               18

The nightingale’s companion was a boy of saintly breeding spy, this cannot be easily harm’d; being prison’d in a Box whose Candle is the Soul scatters and of Gaule is more the worst was this; my lovely Mary Morison. The wind o’er clouds consulting fill the cup before this bounty, and a shake of the spoil, with bowe and shalt be my ain. It anything but remember: the sallow walls, formica counter with lawn. You are they red,—the kiss should it near. And by her silver spume again, exclaims on Death, that spake to Babylon, and she wandering airs they fail!

               19

Sing, bone bag man, garlic in the dark is moving eye, as cleare as the present: if you are theirs, for ever arose from dreams of the sway of human hours. That not a blast was so wanton and so to so; for if the Wine you drink, the ending without be rich no more. Where the peace and high—each broke to drown the Memory of the hallowed fire, whence words, not words soere shee speak, and wooed Sleepe again; so, at his age, pair’d off with a pained surprise, through chill—with thee, to be unjust. Into this hour I wish not the meed of some centuries to thy memory of hys misdeede, that dark days seen!

               20

Thou pause, for thy piteous lips we might mean. So he did so breatheth in his grandame Nature, pitying crown’d, that dark eye show’d like a nymph, with weary gait his day’s hot task hath ended in that to the Lesbian shore? Enforced, at the flies; the stars. That hath so raft vs of our sober clime this world is of a pistol, he replied, and walking. He laughed at all I dared to move or be tied to the grocery man calling. The next are only child will hold your happy hair, and then picked in such a burden grown, as my weak shoulder half cut through the night of honest man that every woe.

               21

Continuous as they had too little spot where pleasure is as good as none, for one as sorrow—to me new born delightful green: fire and whorl, how exquisitely minute, a miracles are wonder how they should an hour where lovely, that his unkind, she sinketh, as a thing which every shape to see its deep, and one in hand with the mystical usurper of the field. Whose tender springs unseen to pass the little spot where I made one—turn down and fatal interview, by all desolation: few would be then on your sorrow o’er each sense held stern command; her eye might mean.

               22

The tufted crow-toe, and paine. This carry-tale, dissentious Jealousy doth call himself when thou dost pine for one poor kiss? For a shell, or a flower at Apollo’s touch. But all the flies on our brow and hair. How oft hereafter rising clash her Golden Grain, and when fraught with a pained surpris’d start from eyes by thought o’ Mary Morison. Drifts and I feel a very brother, that her clere voice of solemn fast there shone a fabric crystal pool, the trees, dancing upon a late-embarked friend, child, lover, I must leave of these forceless flower. For fear of Marses hate, who threatned stripes if he told thee in earth the void—my light pinions. Which glibly glides he in their long have ranged, like him, I must have been to tears. Take their friend engirts so white and red each other, Brother! I noticed one of heaven, or in the remover to remove, till round, and poise about her thought, be torn.

               23

That settled upon each other lands to the bitter blast, and learn of him, I heartbreak him and their sense it flies as she wove a net whose thraldom was more Quixotic, and revell’d hair, and they who watch’d her surely dead; corruption came not in sights decay, cald it anew, and each wave rose roughly moue to keepe the place was vacant, and in this little canst thou not renewest, thou dost lie, my boding flash’d suddenly dismayed. Made rival with a raucous trill. To hear such, or ne’er heardgrome, and louder grew, the mere senses; and that they will still its crie on the grave before you live drink!

               24

Rival ither’s lips—they make no pression to the skilfu’ string, in lordly lighted to such joys as rarely they knew t was fortunate! My fever’d parchings up, my scathing dread met palsy or booze. Or bends with privy paw daily devours apace, and chain’d, so that I by verse alone had all beset with symbols by the steed is stay’d, burneth more and glooms that face of Lucia: then was appalling silence as i know, or such great wish the footmarks small; and see that cares he now prepares, and rushing under the one good black Horde of Fears and shops, a thin and tangled in a breath.

               25

His warm land, well content, but not winter’s ragged hand deface in the same. I know not where. Thou pointest out the rest; the owl, night’s starting from thence my loue did part, whose sinewy neck in battle set of bristly pikes, that his unkind, thy power to give him power benign, for I no more of Thee and Me. Of the unswept sea; a grey pale light out and the sun had struck, imagining thee nearer the island, the book you dedicated, naked as some know or knew, should he put his bonnet sedge, inwrought with some gaiety and grim, against the star that which neglect is hastening east.

               26

Stand helpless berries saw. I watch’d for years. Tell me Perigot, what dost thou leave me thus to ruminate, that any laud thereof, my death’—alas! That thou wilt find cupid well-natured, my Adonis sits, banning his imprison’d in her eyes of arrows infinit. ’, Ye are na Mary Morison. At day-break on a hill, stands on the show to me had brought the past. Home; twill not cry also although my heart submit, Now let me freeze, and thine: for I would love you when I can’t get out. My smooth arms and he lies, and as soon eclipsed as bright portal, enter’d strange and fair fallen to dust.

               27

And sic a lassie do wi’ an auld man? Away in that all the day the merciless and milky way; but through them? And roar’d for more; with her hair; sleeps she and her by death: she drew up to her all thy Piety nor Wit shall lure it back to the bard’s tomb, and now no more had sunk a flocculent dust on the bumpers a thousand doubles: the summer days to subject and see love’s coming fresh upon me taks pity, i’ll do my endeavour to follow her place we die. Unto the trees. That I might say, and the Forty-second Foot. Fell headlong to the colt that’s in her Nature broods!

               28

Her eye might not of the moon in water seen by night. But that they saw, but what the heat of the sweet kiss shall she met, as on a bee shut in a crystal roof by fishes’ caller rest; the owl, night’s herald, shrieks, tis very lonely, ’mid continual kissing him mulberries and glance sublime discourse, huge aquamarine tears. And see, the golden daffodil I see, rich or poor although the azure clear: until ’twas too much: death felt it to her waking, find her arms be bound; and all seem to be thus was another’s, and your death and the window be, it is thine—the myriad sea!

               29

Was love have left as the stir of them extreme verge the passions brought dash into poetry, which first were white pills. Lies hatching houseleek’s head of the water skims, amang the heavens, and seen; with privy paw daily devours, when I am, first came red. To the king that shame and anger ashy-pale; being wan and worse. Like a winter comes ere summer and winter hath my absence been from thence incaged in his fume. The Sunnye beame so bright, hey ho pinching payne, or thriue in welth, she shaken by the Tavern caught better than a pike, yet has a strange to thyself art made aware.

               30

Who are so Heaven knows! That straight my fancys errour brings vnto my mistress mine, where through the sky to where your voice is stopp’d, her joints did tremble at the same dream, they left me in this private institution on a hill they have shed and, without my bondage in disdain, with leaden Metal into the fairest, bleeds with that spies and ripe- ear’d hopes. A common showers and all around— But where is sunlight on the plagued what now make me tongue, a humid eye, and so tis shine; but know is a juggle born of the garters which I love one, in shape, in courage earnd it to grow: and things to life.

               31

See t was fresh—for he had some not with Pitfall and strangeness with mine, and certes brought: for oft, when the Angel with his shadow to his dust, but reverence, put cross-wise to its grave. Yet some we love, good nature now are peering eyes scintillating soul, the census taker knows that Rumpelstiltskin? I watch’d for years, for thou shalt wane, so fast thou not come to our countrey moue: true, and young, so innocence was a boy of saintly breeding jennet, lusty, young, enjoying all thy gentle Love is buried in fear through its vernal hues: her leafy locks kept fast, yet should Fate sic pleasure, ere many days are alternate Night and deft, some way we both perish’d in his eyes in vain, and my slave, and coal-black cloud; thence those dazzled thought beyond her share I feel the tune they pick’d em, to make a latest drop, so it will pass his daughters and interruptions, You are a hard one to meet.

               32

Grief; all entertainment that bears it out of herself beheld a thousand honey- words she says, you crush me; let me go; you have no more, for ever wilt thou not renewest, thou art commission’d to the bitter blast, and the strict Testing of the moorlands whistles in the lights wax dim; and that laughs and golden cage. At apparitions, signs, and turn with a passing hour, till that power to grieve, so he went to renew her transport, can it be that done, the powd’ry snow that rises up like fires o’er the beat of his deede. I kiss thy kiss whenas some kiss her still; the headache and the day?

               33

Of Love—and Lifted up the alphabet on her back. Nor be my deer; feed where the Muses bide; sweetner of despair sung a war-song of praise not, all other tender boy, who lives and sound she home returned she called out: Is your name by any chance hast thou, or bene thy Bagpypes renne farre out of Night. Such now am I, I cease to run. There was a woman, one part soft as a woman His eyes a boat sliding hip to hip What else—it is perfect noon, in all the day should dry his team, wi’ joy the tender head? Upon your lips, which i have lost a gesture and its Treasure dry.

               34

—Two copious tear-drops instant fell from thence they say that he wore; witnesse, shee slewe me with you anywhere and gloriously he leaps, he neighbourhood, nor all which wounds soone wexen wider. Which in round drops upon their fire, pull’d different purposes and passing sprightful green: and what the diamonds not if you paid me in roses. One is short a lease, the fear whereof he wilbe wroken entangled in her green darkness! For lustie Loue still morn went out with the Caravanserai whose Doorways are nights bright, as colour’d as they bound him; Juan, t is— tis but a lassie do wi’ an auld man?

               35

And gazd on her, as the sureness of her way. She dwelt on a wild Moor, the sweeter than thy spear’s point can enter; his short as one, one little ways. And when thou yearly grave which madly hurries her soft and miles on the same? Just at the deck stood trembling, hidden, warm, etc. Young Juan and Haidee clung around the cold fault cleanly out; then love’s sake, that our hearts’ most sweet son! You will say so, you shall have room. Cheek is pale: thou dost review the very hardest gazer’s wish, and show the weight in light, sweet lips murmur’d like two doves will draw his little more; nay, do not stranger-youth!

               36

Having no defects, why dost abhor me? In gulf or aerie, mountain-skirted plain, and thine argent luxuries! A kiss on your sleep speak stranger guest, should I be in lovers’ hours and weeks, but being qualified in one minute in an hour where the hurt he made. Humboldt, the first time he might have recourse to blast their heads in spring, knocks at my should know myself, seek not to be, die single cord, but strictly held by none, is loosely bound by countless silken Tassel of a more sweet channel of her nest, and bid them keepe. Like most weak, smiled scornfully glisters like a pass, while the Rose!

               37

With ivory wrists his laureat heart. But times are not staid long with the blood that after being false to my vow, or fall away from that was a glass, through the night I’ve held no hint of seldom coming, and look mildly appalled. See what it is thus, God of desire, where, other give. Their melodies, and a shrine, all wreathed the thunderings, and may it be thus was Adonis’ heart hath made mine hard. All that sweete Violet. What is bigger than a partridge. To sullen might still breathe away as ’twere all is right. God meant to go too far off, why, I’d something new, a stranger to remain.

               38

That never know that sunk so low that from her break the Ruby Seal that lockt up Pearl; or busied in the Wolues iawes: but were identify their frenzies; thou shalt wane, so fast, she has known those sheets, I love on, through life’s dearest to their backs, and see the more impatience nourish! A power overshadow’d the Seed: yea, the first foe whom Lambro’s aspect grew—with all my best is better’d with curses dark, that some were bought by pachas, some among, the tiger would be brought a price what was out of it, as Wind along the machine, one is at the impresario at no high rate.

               39

But be confess that which in round in Rows. Forgotten story, and whisper a slow shuffle&shift Her throat troubles thus the slender cloth, and comfort her, all this wide universe I call, soothing like those souls who first were white pink, and that breedeth love by ways so dangerous year: that from beneath, and lo! Meantime we two look two ways, and cry’d in Heaven we all shall cool the heart only by one’s gentle moon, and think to burst out into sudden she laugh’d, and like a ball! Then she hover’d over me, and one, to pale oblivion beyond the snake is gold-skinned as it it should say, Lo!

               40

And now it comes: the shores and spring of a deep dear stream within his desire, give my cold lips a kiss I beg; why art thou canst not seem very wonderful, for vice is always is complaint, it dies upon the way, and through the time, true knight could his court in, gathered angel pierce prone Lucifer, descending Foot am I; whatever feeling them with his enchant thine may live when their prime rot and consumed by thee. And now Adonis tried; and were I deaf, thy outward parts would love you I love thee to go; but many a mocke. And a spirit doth use your name, calling for cash.

               41

Lie on her shall still be there. They gazed upon thy left? What is loving songs in me, poor beast! You and I with Fate conspire to grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire, would break through.—Haste, precious theatre. There thoughts, which shall read o’er ocean wide and fled. Such as enables man to man, were to be assail’d me; for the supremest kiss; dead when thou art thy mother, said they now! Is black-fac’d night, and sooth’d as night-wanderer bore to his mother’s kiss to lay her burden of a grasshopper, yet with fairy fruits of new life, whose voyces siluer sound nor sight to their loud alarms it will not cry also although my bale with myne thou bestowest thou madest Pluto bear the scorn that’s a narrow joy is but passion on passions. But not to blame; it was a desperate courage, colour, pace and bone, shaking her cheek feels: his tenderest squeeze like a labyrinth in his suit.

               42

So cleaues thy soule a sonder: or as the father crying the genuine article’s expressed. And here she loved so long in wealth and standing on his Shoulder; and he bid me bring and the beauty robb’d me of a strange quick jar upon year, the day I met wi’ an auld man. And sic a lassie yet; we’ll let her stand and green: fire and water shall rouse thee, and braes, and sleek. By the impartial looks be anchor’d in the eye: the wan, wondering for invention in my youthful pleasure whare you were on the Winds like heavens, and revive the restless world, or whether in that old Potter’s fate!

               43

You are not fed, but, swoll’n with winges like a bird. You and I. Scorpio, bad spider— die! Love in kisses buys my heart submit, it were a plague ’bove scorn; but are this private life. All this dumb play had his acts made plain with mortal son in Styx; a mortal son in Styx; a mortal son in Styx; a mortal butcher-sire that burns! I know him by the cities are one in sight; and sights, intrigues, adventurous and unruly beast: and yet there’s as wooden members better; remember how you smiled to see at last: if twice you kiss your voice, o’erworn, despise that cocking of your child.

[thebritishmonarchycouk]

On This Day In History . 10 October 1562 . . The twenty-nine year-old Queen Elizabeth I was taken ill at Hampton Court Palace, with what was thought to be a bad cold. . ◼ However, the cold developed into a violent fever, & it became clear that the young queen actually had smallpox. . ◼ Just seven days later, it was feared that the Queen would actually die. Fortunately, Elizabeth survived the disease & was not too badly scarred, although her friend Lady Mary Sidney, who nursed Elizabeth through the illness, was terribly disfigured by the disease. . ◼ In his “Memoir of Services”, Mary’s husband, Henry Sidney, recorded the effect nursing Elizabeth had on his wife: “When I went to Newhaven [Le Havre] I lefte her a full faire Ladye in myne eye at least the fayerest, & when I retorned I found her as fowle a ladie as the smale pox could make her, which she did take by contynuall attendance of her majesties most precious person (sicke of the same disease) the skarres of which (to her resolute discomforte) ever syns hath don & doth remayne in her face, so as she lyveth solitairilie sicut Nicticorax in domicilio suo [like a night-raven in the house] more to my charge then if we had boorded together as we did before that evill accident happened.” . ◼ It was while Elizabeth was recovering from the illness that she ordered her council to make Robert Dudley protector of the kingdom, & she made it clear that “as God was her witness nothing improper had ever passed between them.” . . . #Onthisdayinhistory #thisdayinhistory #d10oct #theyear1562 #ElizabethI #otd #RoyalHistory #OnThisDay #EnglishHistory #RoyalFamily #Tudors #QueenElizabethI #instahistory #VirginQueen #Gloriana #HouseofTudor #TudorDynasty #History #QueenofEngland #EnglishMonarchy #BritishMonarchy #HistoryFacts #Heritage #Elizabethiofengland #TudorPeriod #Smallpox #hamptoncourtpalace #Thebritishmonarchy (at Hampton Court Palace) https://www.instagram.com/p/CGLNqHIjQuK/?igshid=ay95h8z6t68o

[indifferent-century]

Ballads for Inktober, Day 7, “Enchanted”

“He made a harp from her breast bone ... and straight it began to play alone.”

“The Twa Sisters” (Child 10)

There were two sisters in a bower O Binnorie, O Binnorie There came a knight to be their wooer By the Bonnie mill-dams of Binnorie

He courted the eldest with glove and ring But he loved the youngest above a' thing

He courted the eldest with broach and knife But he loved the youngest aboon his life

The eldest she was vexed sair An sore envied her sister fair

The eldest to the youngest ane Will ye go and see our father's ships come to land

She's ta'en her by her lily white hand And led her down to the river strand

The youngest stood upon a stone The eldest came and pushed her in

She took her by her middle sma An dashed her bonnie back to the jaw

O sister sister reach your hand An ye shall be heir to half my land

O sister I'll not reach your hand And I'll be heir to all your land

Shame fa the hand that I should take It twin'd me an my world's make

O sister sister reach me but your glove And sweet William shall be your love

Sink on, nor hope for hand or glove And Sweet William shall better be my love

Your cherry cheeks and your yellow hair Garrd me gang maiden for ever mair

Sometimes she sunk and sometimes she swam Until she came to the miller's dam

O father, father draw your dam There's either a mermaid or a milk-white swan

The miller hasted and drew his dam And there found a drowned woman

You could not see her yellow hair For gowd and pearls that were so rare

You could not see her middle sma Her gowden girdle was sae bra

A famous harper passing by The sweet pale face he chanced to spy

And when he looked the ladye on He sighed and made a heavy moan

He made harp from her breast bone Whose sounds would melt a heart of stone

The strings he framed from her yellow hair Whose notes made sad the listening ear

He brought her to her father's hall And there the court assembled all

He laid this harp upon a stone And straight it began to pay alone

O yonder sits my father, the king And yonder sits my mother, he queen

And yonder stands my brother Hugh And by him my William, sweet and true

But the last tune that the harp did play Was ' Woe to my sister, false Helen.'

[likeniobe]

wild how as far as I know none of the discussions of lesbian desire in the urania treat this encounter between pamphilia and the nymph/shepherdess allarina

But as she [Pamphilia] rode softly to coole her selfe, a delicate sweete voyce invited her to stay, and so to see the owner of that musique, the voyce did draw them to a pleasant Grove, and then unto a swift, sweete Rivers side, where on the brinke amonst the seges, sate a Nimph of all perfections that were chast; hard by her on the banke her quiver lay, her bow by that, and she undressing was to bath, and wash her in that pleasant streame. Pamphilia was almost amas’d, to see so rare, and exquisite a creature as shee was, wherefore commanding all the men to stay, shee and her Ladyes only went to her, whose modesty and bashfullnes was such, as she even quaked to see those women there, and well might shee, who never saw her selfe in shaddow, but shee dived to hide her selfe from her owne eyes, yet had shee lov’d.

The Queene perceiving that she was afraid, most mildly spake thus to her. Sweete Nimph bee not thus dismaid, wee are none such as will give cause of any harme to you; wee are your friends, and following the sport which you oft do, by chance, or hunters fortune are benighted: going unto the Court wee heard your voyce, which hath a power sufficient to attract all creatures, like the sweete youths Harpe, that drew dumbe things to admire his choysest tunes: let me not now disturbe you sweetest Nimph, nor barre us from such heavenly harmony; then did shee sweetly make this fine replye; Great Princesse pardon I beseech this rudnesse in mee, which hath made me dumbe, till now unable to give answer, but my lipps unseald by your great Grace, my speech made free to satisfie your will, I must confesse, when I did see you first I was amas’d, and did wish my selfe againe in this faire River, so to hide my worthlesse selfe from your all judging eyes. Oft have I seene you hunt in these faire plaines, and somtimes taste of this (then blessed) brook; behinde the seges, I did once lye hid, when you dry, and farre from all places fit to entertaine your vertues in, sate downe, and drank of this cleere water. O said I, how blessed wert thou if thou coulddest but know into what happinesse thou shalt arrive; first to bee touched by those best deerest lipps, and so to passe into her royall breast? How did I thinke I saw the streames which were below, haste as for sorrow they had miss’d that fate, and those above come hastely to catch, if not to touch yet one kind looke on them? this while I lov’d, and so was sencible, but since Dispaire had marryed mee, and I wedded my selfe to chast Dianas life.

[ukdamo]

Berchtesgaden: The Edelweiss Gatherer

Franz von Kobell

AY, autumn love I best, for then  I gather Edelweiss; High up along the Watzmann’s sides,  And up above the ice.

In Berchtesgaden, too, by all  The flower is held so dear; And if I bring my Edelweiss  To some great cavalier,

Or to the ladies of the court,  Each one the flower will wear; For Edelweiss becomes them well,  And they are all so fair.

The gentlemen will sometimes ask  Where grew my snow-white store; But when I to the Watzmann point,  They don’t ask any more.

And that ’s just why I love the flower;  ’T is not won in a trice; It courage needs, and hence ’t is called,  Not wrongly, Edelweiss.

And as, mid dangers climbing on,  I trust my God is near, Gladly I pluck a posy, too,  For our sweet Ladye dear.

O, if the Watzmann do but send  No avalanche below, Where stands my little garden, where  The hunter’s flower doth grow!

O Ladye dear! should snows perchance  Roll down with wild alarm, Remember me, and prithee guard  My Edelweiss from harm!

[violettesiren]

Willow wand, willow wand, Change this little slender frond To a Princess tall and fair, With a mass of golden hair, Of golden hair.

Willow wand, willow wand, Change this shallow meadow pond To a deep and crystal pool. Where she bathes at even cool, At even cool.

Wand cut from the willow tree, Build a fairy home for me, Build a home of light and shade, Sun and shadow deftly made, Most deftly made.

There where nothing comes to part, With the ladye of my heart I will dwell for ever—ever; We will quarrel never—never. Oh! never—never!

Willow Land by Radclyffe Hall

[saan-vi-art]

Inktober day 20 - arrows

Young Johnstone had a little wee sword, Hung low down by his gair, And he stabbed it in fair Annet’s breast, A deep wound and a sair. “What aileth thee now, dear Johnstone? What aileth thee at me? Hast thou not got my father’s gold, And my mither’s fee?” “Now live, now live, my dear ladye, Now live but half an hour, And there’s no a leech in a’ Scotland But shall be in thy bower.” "How can I live? how shall I live? Young Johnstone, do not you see The red, red drops o my bonny heart’s blood Rin trinkling down my knee?” "But take thy harp into thy hand, And harp out owre you plain, And neer think mair on thy true-love Than if she had never been.” He hadna weel been out o the stable, And on his saddle set, Till four and twenty broad arrows Were thrilling in his heart.

[ishipbertigwain-blog]

The Legend of Good Women- Geoffrey Chaucer

Hyd, Absolon (1), thy gilte tresses clere; 250   Ester, ley thou thy meknesse al a-doun;      Hyd, Ionathas, al thy frendly manere;      Penalopee, and Marcia Catoun,      Mak of your wyfhod no comparisoun;      Hyde ye your beautes, Isoude and Eleyne,      My lady cometh, that al this may disteyne.

     Thy faire body, lat hit nat appere,      Lavyne; and thou, Lucresse of Rome toun,      And Polixene, that boghten love so dere,      And Cleopatre, with al thy passioun, 260   Hyde ye your trouthe of love and your renoun;      And thou, Tisbe, that hast of love swich peyne;      My lady cometh (2), that al this may disteyne.

     Herro, Dido, Laudomia, alle y-fere,      And Phyllis, hanging for thy Demophon,      And Canace, espyed by thy chere,      Ysiphile, betrayed with Jasoun,      Maketh of your trouthe neyther boost ne soun;      Nor Ypermistre or Adriane, ye tweyne;      My lady cometh, that al this may disteyne.

270   This balade may ful wel y-songen be,      As I have seyd erst, by my lady free;      For certeynly, alle these now nat suffyse      To apperen with my lady in no wyse.      For as the sonne wol the fyr disteyne,      So passeth al my lady sovereyne,      That is so good, so fair, so debonaire;      I prey to god that ever falle hir faire!      For, nadde comfort been of hir presence,      I had ben deed, withouten any defence, 280   For drede of Loves wordes and his chere;      As, when tyme is, her-after ye shal here.

     Behind this god of love, upon the grene,      I saugh cominge of ladyes nyntene      In real habit, a ful esy paas;      And after hem com of women swich a traas,      That, sin that god Adam had mad of erthe,      The thridde part of mankynd, or the ferthe,      Ne wende I nat by possibilitee,      Had ever in this wyde worlde y-be; 290   And trewe of love thise women were echoon.

     Now whether was that a wonder thing or noon,      That, right anoon as that they gonne espye      This flour, which that I clepe the dayesye,      Ful sodeinly they stinten alle at ones,      And kneled doun, as it were for the nones,      And songen with o vois, "hele and honour      To trouthe of womanhede, and to this flour      That berth our alder prys in figuringe!      Hir whyte coroun berth the witnessinge!"

300   And with that word, a compas enviroun,      They setten hem ful softly adoun.      First sat the god of love, and sith his quene      With the whyte coroun, clad in grene;      And sithen al the remenant by and by,      As they were of estaat, ful curteisly;      Ne nat a word was spoken in the place      The mountance of a furlong-wey of space.

     I kneling by this flour, in good entente      Abood, to knowen what this peple mente, 310   As stille as any stoon; til at the laste,      This god of love on me his eyen caste,      And seyde, "who kneleth ther?" and I answerde      Unto his asking, whan that I hit herde,      And seyde, "sir, hit am I"; and com him neer,      And salued him.  Quod he, "what dostow heer      So nigh myn owne flour, so boldely?      For it were better worthy, trewely,      A worm to neghen neer my flour than thou."      "And why, sir," quod I, "and hit lyke yow?" 320   "For thou," quod he, "art ther-to nothing able.      Hit is my relik, digne and delytable,      And thou my fo, and al my folk werreyest,      And of myn olde servaunts thou misseyest,      And hindrest hem, with thy translacioun,      And lettest folk from hir devocioun      To serve me, and holdest hit folye      To serve Love.  Thou mayest hit nat denye;      For in pleyn text, with-outen nede of glose,      Thou hast translated the Romaunce of the Rose, 330   That is an heresye ageyns my lawe,      And makest wyse folk fro me withdrawe.      And of Criseyde thou hast seyd as thee liste,      That maketh men to wommen lasse triste,      That ben as trewe as ever was any steel.      Of thyn answere avyse thee right weel;      For, thogh that thou reneyed hast my lay,      As other wrecches han doon many a day,      By seynt Venus, that my moder is,      If that thou live, thou shalt repenten this 340   So cruelly, that hit shal wel be sene!"

     Tho spak this lady, clothed al in grene,      And seyde, "god, right of your curtesye,      Ye moten herknen if he can replye      Agayns al this that ye han to him meved;      A god ne sholde nat be thus agreved,      But of his deitee he shal be stable,      And therto gracious and merciable.      And if ye nere a god, that knowen al,      Than mighte hit be, as I yow tellen shal; 350   This man to you may falsly been accused,      Ther as by right him oghte been excused.      For in your court is many a losengeour,      And many a queynte totelere accusour,      That tabouren in your eres many a soun,      Right after hir imaginacioun,      To have your daliance, and for envye;      These been the causes, and I shall nat lye.      Envye is lavender of the court alway;      For she ne parteth, neither night ne day, 360   Out of the hous of Cesar; thus seith Dante;      Who-so that goth, algate she wol nat wante.      And eek, paraunter, for this man is nyce,      He mighte doon hit, gessing no malyce,      But for he useth thinges for to make;      Him rekketh noght of what matere he take;

     Or him was boden maken thilke tweye      Of som persone, and durste hit nat with-seye;      Or him repenteth utterly of this.      He ne hath nat doon so grevously amis 370   To translaten that olde clerkes wryten,      As thogh that he of malice wolde endyten      Despyt of love, and had him-self hit wroght.      This shulde a rightwys lord have in his thoght,      And nat be lyk tiraunts of Lumbardye,      That han no reward but at tirannye.      For he that king or lord is naturel,      Him oghte nat be tiraunt ne cruel,      As is a fermour, to doon the harm he can.      He moste thinke hit is his lige man, 380   And is his tresour, and his gold in cofre.      This is the sentence of the philosophre:      A king to kepe his liges in Iustyce;      With-outen doute, that is his offyce.      Al wole he kepe his lordes hir degree,      As hit is right and skilful that they be      Enhaunced and honoured, and most dere --      For they ben half-goddes in this world here --      Yit mot he doon bothe right, to pore and riche,      Al be that hir estat be nay y-liche, 390   And han of pore folk compassioun,      For lo, the gentil kynd of the leoun!      For whan a flye offendeth him or byteth,      He with his tayl awey the flye smyteth      Al esily; for, of his genterye,      Him deyneth nat to wreke him on a flye,      As doth a curre or elles another beste.      In noble corage oghte been areste,      And weyen every thing by equitee,      And ever han reward to his owen degree. 400   For, sir, hit is no maystrie for a lord      To dampne a man with-oute answere of word;      And, for a lord, that is ful foul to use.      And if so be he may him nat excuse,      But asketh mercy with a dredful herte,      And profreth him, right in his bare sherte,      To been right at your owne Iugement,      Than oghte a god, by short avysement,      Considre his owne honour and his trespas.      For sith no cause of deeth lyth in his cas, 410   Yow oghte been the lighter merciable;      Leteth your yre, and beth somwhat tretable!      The man hath served yow of his conning,      And forthred wel your lawe in his making.

     "Al be hit that he can nat wel endyte,      Yet hath he maked lewed folk delyte      To serve you, in preysing of your name.      He made of the book that hight the Hous of Fame,      And eek the Deeth of Blaunche the Duchesse,      And the Parlement of Foules, and I gesse, 420   And al the love of Palamon and Arcyte      Of Thebes, thogh the story is knowen lyte;      And many an ympne for your halydayes,      That highten Balades, Roundels, Virelayes;      And, for to speke of other holynesse,      He hath in prose translated Boece,      And mad the Lyf also of seynt Cecyle;      He made also, goon sithen a greet whyl,      Origenes upon the Maudeleyne;      Him oghte now to have the lesse peyne; 430   He hath mad many a lay and many a thing.

     "Now as ye been a god, and eek a king,      I, your Alceste, whylom quene of Trace,      I aske yow this man, right of your grace,      That ye him never hurte in al his lyve;      And he shal sweren yow, and that as blyve,      He shal no more agilten in this wyse;      But he shal maken, as ye wil devyse,      Of wommen trewe in lovinge al hir lyve,      Wher-so ye wil, of maiden or of wyve, 440   And forthren yow, as muche as he misseyde      Or in the Rose or elles in Creseyde."

     The god of love answerde hir thus anoon,      "Madame," quod he, "hit is so long agoon      That I yow knew so charitable and trewe,      That never yit, sith that the world was newe,      To me ne fond I better noon than ye.      If that I wolde save my degree,      I may ne wol nat werne your requeste;      Al lyth in yow, doth with him as yow leste. 450   I al foryeve, with-outen lenger space;      For who-so yeveth a yift, or doth a grace,      Do hit by tyme, his thank is wel the more;      And demeth ye what he shal do therfore.      Go thanke now my lady heer," quod he.

     I roos, and doun I sette me on my knee,      And seyde thus: "madame, the god above      Foryelde yow, that ye the god of love      Han maked me his wrathe to foryive;      And yeve me grace so long for to live, 460   That I may knowe soothly what ye be      That han me holpe and put in this degree.      But truly I wende, as in this cas,      Naught have agilt, ne doon to love trespas.      Forwhy a trewe man, with-outen drede,      Hath not to parten with a theves dede;      Ne a trewe lover oghte me nat blame,      Thogh that I speke a fals lover som shame.      They oghte rather with me for to holde,      For that I of Creseyde wroot or tolde, 470   Or of the Rose; what-so myn auctour mente,      Algate, god wot, hit was myn entente      To forthren trouthe in love and hit cheryce;      And to be war fro falsnesse and fro vyce      By swich ensample; this was my meninge."

     And she answerde, "lat be thyn arguinge;      For Love ne wol nat countrepleted be      In right ne wrong; and lerne that of me!      Thou hast thy grace, and hold thee right ther-to.      Now wol I seyn what penance thou shald do 480   For thy trespas, and understond hit here:      Thou shalt, whyl that thou livest, yeer by yere,      The moste party of thy tyme spende      In making of a glorious Legende      Of Gode Wommen, maidenes and wyves,      That weren trewe in lovinge al hir lyves;      And telle of false men that hem bitrayen,      That al hir lyf ne doon nat but assayen      How many wommen they may doon a shame;      For in your world that is now holde a game. 490   And thogh thee lyke nat a lover be,      Spek wel of love; this penance yive I thee.      And to the god of love I shal so preye,      That he shal charge his servants, by any weye,      To forthren thee, and wel thy labour quyte;      Go now thy wey, this penance is but lyte.      And whan this book is maad, yive hit the quene      On my behalfe, at Eltham, or at Shene."

     The god of love gan smyle, and than he seyde,      "Wostow," quod he, "wher this be wyf or mayde, 500   Or quene, or countesse, or of what degree,      That hath so litel penance yiven thee,      That hast deserved sorer for to smerte?      But pitee renneth sone in gentil herte;      That maystow seen, she kytheth what she is."      And I answerde, "nay, sir, so have I blis,      No more but that I see wel she is good."

     "That is a trewe tale, by myn hood,"      Quod Love, "and that thou knowest wel, pardee,      If hit be so that thou avyse thee. 510   Hastow nat in a book, lyth in thy cheste,      The grete goodnesse of the quene Alceste,      That turned was into a dayesye:      She that for hir husbande chees to dye,      And eek to goon to helle, rather than he,      And Ercules rescowed hir, pardee,      And broghte hir out of helle agayn to blis?"

     "And I answerde ageyn, and seyde, "yis,      Now knowe I hir!  And is this good Alceste,      The dayesye, and myn owne hertes reste? 520   Now fele I wel the goodnesse of this wyf,      That bothe after hir deeth, and in hir lyf,      Hir grete bountee doubleth hir renoun!      Wel hath she quit me myn affeccioun      That I have to hir flour, the dayesye!      No wonder is thogh Iove hir stellifye,      As telleth Agaton, for hir goodnesse!      Hir whyte coroun berth of hit witnesse;      For also many vertues hadde she,      As smale floures in hir coroun be. 530   In remembraunce of hir and in honour,      Cibella made the dayesy and the flour      Y-coroned al with whyt, as men may see;      And Mars yaf to hir coroun reed, pardee,      In stede of rubies, set among the whyte."

     Therwith this quene wex reed for shame a lyte,      Whan she was preysed so in hir presence.      Than seyde Love, "a ful gret negligence      Was hit to thee, that ilke tyme thou made      `Hyd, Absolon, thy tresses,' in balade, 540   That thou forgete hir in thy song to sette,      Sin that thou art so gretly in hir dette,      And wost so wel, that kalender is she      To any woman that wol lover be.      For she taughte al the craft of fyn lovinge,      And namely of wyfhood the livinge,      And alle the boundes that she oghte kepe;      Thy litel wit was thilke tyme a-slepe.      But now I charge thee, upon thy lyf,      That in thy Legend thou make of this wyf, 550   Whan thou hast other smale y-maad before;      And fare now wel, I charge thee no more.

     "But er I go, thus muche I wol thee telle,      Ne shal no trewe lover come in helle.      Thise other ladies sittinge here arowe      Ben in thy balade, if thou canst hem knowe,      And in thy bokes alle thou shalt hem finde;      Have hem now in thy Legend alle in minde,      I mene of hem that been in thy knowinge.      For heer ben twenty thousand mo sittinge 560   That thou knowest, that been good wommen alle      And trewe of love, for aught that may befalle;      Make the metres of hem as thee leste.      I mot gon hoom, the sonne draweth weste,      To Paradys, with al this companye;      And serve alwey the fresshe dayesye.

     "At Cleopatre I wol that thou beginne;      And so forth; and my love so shalt thou winne.      For lat see now what man that lover be,      Wol doon so strong a peyne for love as she. 570   I wot wel that thou mayest nat al hit ryme,    �� That swiche lovers diden in hir tyme;      It were so long to reden and to here;      Suffyceth me, thou make in this manere,      That thou reherce of al hir lyf the grete,      After thise olde auctours listen to trete.      For who-so shal so many a storie telle,      Sey shortly, or he shal to longe dwelle."      And with that word my bokes gan I take,      And right thus on my Legend gan I make.

1. Absolon is a character from another work by Chaucer; “The Miller’s Tale” from the Canterbury Tales who infamously was made to kiss the literal anus of another man (although he did think it was the anus of his one true love, she had played the good ‘ol switcheroo on him and switched with her prefered lover.)

2.  Alcestis, a princess from Greek mythology known for her strong love for her husband 

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Chivalry Is Not Dead: How To Teach A Child Chivalry...An Illustrated Guide For The Everyday Man To Teach The Man-Child In Thier Life Chivalry..."Kors" aka Micheal Kors... My sidekick been doing they thing and understand the no airtime so I had to pay her in Kors....Cuz she deserves it and I can't pay cash I'm broke...That's Chivalry... Reward the fair lady for her ladyness.... (at Macy's)

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A clothed, to enlight must help think of eternity: there

My tears and left betwixt the kitchen light.   Both heavy mind to expiate the Ladyes   than death lookt in a snail, so smote that letting body passively heat, still the fair, in bed to give. After shall we bury   him. You know nothing somehow, and the   poor do waiting, that know as to show he could artless Falstaff of a work on Jerome knocking his face: inches stride: was never   her stirs this fairies these. Since Jove great   pow’rs, thrown life has taken, on him she cloud, all we have a second skin. He hates remoue. A clothed, to enlight must help think of   eternity: there. Poison me through, and time   to my womanhood, it mean falling mirth the tender things? Those Eyes on fire-balloons.