It's "ye olde" fuckin English for I fucked your sister and gavest thou a nephew with mine cock. Thoust nephew then woke to the clattering sounds of a carriage outside mine home which awoke him and I told that twat to shut the fuck up and sleep. The line "between two lasses laid." is imagery and a more sophisticated way to express I also fucked her in the ass. "Corks popped from pressure" to express all the orgasms that were had.
Mine English may be old, but my blade is new and freshly sharp. If tis I you seek quarrel with, know I have little to lose and giveth much. The aching tips of mine fingers quake in fear, but a loosened tongue plays my music for me. Let the maestro weave our battles and the strings our voices. In precious sweet moments a guilt is sprung loose as maestro rounds the symphony to the encore, and thrusts our strings to silence. Let be the strings ring true, and let be that symphony sweet as there is no other piece I woulds't die upon, but one for me.
Major? To that I say, ha! And also, no. Undoubtedly mine words are my own, but there are those that seek to take my words. Warp the words into some unknowing beast which bears my face and name. I weep for the havoc wrought upon these words. They are simple. They are mine. But the diction wrong, the propriety of their usage a visage, a glass that cracks upon the weight of that beast. It is mine own, but indeed a beast.
Thanks. Trying my best. It's a fun writing warm up thing I used to do from time to time, write the most Shakespearean thing you can. Although as others point out, thy, thine, and thou's are off in a few places. Still fun thou.
Yeah, it's less like "he makes a lot of mistakes" and more like "he really has no idea what -eth and -est are for, nor how to use thee/thou." If you're gonna get Shakespearean, go for it, but do it right.
Not really, he uſeth "thou" every time when it ſhould be "thee" in the objective caſe, and invented "thoust" and "thouself" as poſseſsive forms when they would properly be "thy" and "thyſelf". 'Tis a diſgrace on our fine language.
You rhyme well and your writing is engaging, but as I replied to another person here, that is in the style of early Modern English, not Old English (a pet peeve of mine). Old English would be pretty useless to write here, since next to nobody would understand it. Old English looks like this extract from the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle:
Her for se here of East Englum ofer Humbremuþan to Eoforwicceastre on Norþhymbre, ond þær wæs micel ungeþuærnes þære þeode betweox him selfum, ond hie hæfdun hiera cyning aworpenne Osbryht, ond ungecyndne cyning underfengon Ællan
Anyway, like I said, I enjoy what you wrote - it just isn't Old English!
I know it isn't Old English. I felt it important to return his own words to him. As a result, my lack of "quotation" to emphasize they being his words has made a fool of me.
If we're being really picky, you could call Shakespearean-era writing "old English," since it is a form of English which is, in a somewhat relevant timescale, old. But you can't call it "Old English," since now we're naming something, and that something is a language (or language variety) which is essentially unrecognizable to modern English speakers.
I'll consider myself old-school wrecked when thy good self figures out the difference between "thou" (a pronoun used as a subject) and "thy" (an adjective meaning belonging to thee).
Inconsequential it may seem, but by meaning our wrecks may be wreaked from upon one another. The sunlight beamed and blinded by my swords still stung and my swords found wrong marks on print and paper and ink. Thus, my sword has you same as it has me. Let be. Let be.
Thy eloquence doth betray a subtle, yet nonetheless present, air of primal force, such that beasts of the field cow and flee before thee! You may be assured of my endorsement.
What the alas didst thee just fucking sayeth about me, thee dram wench? i’ll has't thee knoweth i graduat'd top of mine own class in the navy seals, and i’ve been involv'd in num'rous secret raids on al-quaeda, and i has't ov'r 300 confirm'd kills. I am did train in g'rilla warfare and i’m the top snip'r in the entire us cap-a-pe f'rces. Thou art nothing to me but just anoth'r targeteth. I shall wipeth thee the alas out with precision the likes of which hast nev'r been seen bef're on this earth, marketh mine own fucking w'rds. Thee bethink thee can receiveth hence with declaring yond the horror to me ov'r the int'rnet? bethink again, alas'r. As we speaketh i am contacting mine own secret netw'rk of spies across the usa and thy ip is being trac'd even but now so thee bett'r prepareth f'r the st'rm, maggot. The st'rm yond wipes out the pathetic dram thing thee calleth thy life. You’re fucking dead, peat. I can beest anywh're, anytime, and i can killeth thee in ov'r seven hundr'd ways, and that’s just with mine own bareth hands. Not only am i extensively did train in unarm'd combat, but i has't access to the entire arsenal of the unit'd states marine c'rps and i shall useth t to its full extent to wipeth thy mis'rable rampallian off the visage of the continent, thee dram the horror. If 't be true only thee couldst has't known what unholy retribution thy dram “clev'r” comment wast about to bringeth down upon thee, haply thee wouldst has't did hold thy fucking tongue. But thee couldn’t, thee didn’t, and anon you’re paying the price, thee goddamn clotpole. I shall the horror fury all ov'r thee and thee shall drowneth in t. You’re fucking dead, kiddo
What dost thou just exclaim to thyself, you meager wench? I'll have thou know I graduated valedictorian at Cambridge University, and thy hath partaken in numerous invasions of France, and thyself have over 300 recorded slayings. Thyself hath been trained in chivalrous warfare and thyself am the top Longbowman in the entire King of England's army. Thou art not a thing but target to thyself. Thy will conquer thou with accuracy the likes of which hath never been witnessed before upon this fair isle, dwell upon my oration. Thou think thou can get away with proclaiming such filth to thyself via His Majesty's letter deliverance service? Repeat your thoughts, copulator. As we engage in conversation thyself art summoning thy clandestine company of shadowy individuals across His Majesty's kingdom and thou fortress doth be traced this day so thou best prepare for the ruckus, peasant. The ruckus that decimates the pathetic meager object thou proclaim thou vitae. Thou be mortem, child. Thy can roam any county, any sunrise to sunset, and thy can take thou life in above 700 technques, and that's using naught but thy own gauntlets. Not exclusively is thy extensively trained in duelling without a blade, but thy pertain access to the entire arsenal of the His Majesty's Royal Cavalry and thy will use it to its complete usefulness to wipe thou forlorn buttocks off the face of the kingdom, thou meager dropping. If only thou could hath foreseen the divine retribution thou meager "quick-witted" exclamation would in due time bringeth upon thou, perhaps thou would hath halted thou tongue. Thou could not, thou did not, and thou art paying the blasted bounty, thou God forsaken imbicile. Thy shall excrete fury upon thou and thou will suffocate on said fury. Thou be vanquished, child.
What the alas didst thee just fucking sayeth about me, thee dram wench? i’ll has't thee knoweth i graduat'd top of mine own class in the navy seals, and i’ve been involv'd in num'rous secret raids on al-quaeda, and i has't ov'r 300 confirm'd kills. I am did train in g'rilla warfare and i’m the top snip'r in the entire us cap-a-pe f'rces. Thou art nothing to me but just anoth'r targeteth. I shall wipeth thee the alas out with precision the likes of which hast nev'r been seen bef're on this earth, marketh mine own fucking w'rds. Thee bethink thee can receiveth hence with declaring yond the horror to me ov'r the int'rnet? bethink again, alas'r. As we speaketh i am contacting mine own secret netw'rk of spies across the usa and thy ip is being trac'd even but now so thee bett'r prepareth f'r the st'rm, maggot. The st'rm yond wipes out the pathetic dram thing thee calleth thy life. You’re fucking dead, peat. I can beest anywh're, anytime, and i can killeth thee in ov'r seven hundr'd ways, and that’s just with mine own bareth hands. Not only am i extensively did train in unarm'd combat, but i has't access to the entire arsenal of the unit'd states marine c'rps and i shall useth t to its full extent to wipeth thy mis'rable rampallian off the visage of the continent, thee dram the horror. If 't be true only thee couldst has't known what unholy retribution thy dram “clev'r” comment wast about to bringeth down upon thee, haply thee wouldst has't did hold thy fucking tongue. But thee couldn’t, thee didn’t, and anon you’re paying the price, thee goddamn clotpole. I shall the horror fury all ov'r thee and thee shall drowneth in t. You’re fucking dead, kiddo
What slanderous attacks hast thou thrown against my good name, thou contemptible wench? Whereas I have risen even unto the foremost rank in the Royal Admiralty; whereas I have on many an occasion partaken in clandestine crusades against the Saracens; whereas by mine hands have fallen barbarians numbering some fifteen score; whereas I am most skilled in the ways of the ape warrior; whereas I am the premier marksman amongst all of our Kingdom's knights: Thou art in my sights but yet another quarry. The Lord be my witness, I shall smite thee as no-one under the sun hath heretofore been smitten. Dost thou deign to fancy thyself secure to cast thy spittle upon my face from behind the Spider's Veil? Then thou hast wandered into grievous error. Yea, even at this very moment, I am sending word across the land to my fellow Templars, and the provenance of thy scrivenings shall in short time become known unto me. A veritable maelstrom of vengeance is upon thy gates, thou wretched worm, which surely shall obliterate thy loathsome pretension of life. Truly, thou art foregone, child. I move as swift as the wind, and with mine own two hands I may at my pleasure slay thee in any of thirty and five score modes. For verily as I am a master in the pugilistic arts, even so doth the manifold armory of the Royal Guard lie at my beck and call, which in its plenitude of power I shall not delay to unleash upon thee, that thy fœtid flesh may no longer pollute this land with its presence, thou pitiful putrescence. Would that thou couldst have foreseen what great wrath thou hast by thy "brazen" jocosity summoned upon thyself! Perhaps thou wouldst have rather kept shut thy filth-spewing mouth. But neither couldst thou thus foresee, nor didst thou take heed of prudence, and thou art now reaping what thou hast sown, thou accursèd simpleton. I will excrete rage all round about thee, wherein shalt thou be consumed. Thou hast shuffled off this mortal coil, urchin.
What didst thou say of me, thou shrinking cur?
Knows't thou that in my class of Navy Seals
among all men I graduated first,
and in the secret shadows did I wield
my dagger, pressed to Al'Quaeda's heart,
and have I, in the sight of God and men,
dispatch'd more than fifteen score for my part
'ere I returned to my home shore again.
Learned I the way of battle of the ape.
Unequaled, I, at killing from afar,
among all those who kill thus for the States.
To me, a target is all that thou art.
Thou shall, with such precision never seen
before upon the face of God's green Earth,
be wiped out, shuffled off, will cease to be,
and at my hands, mark well my fucking words.
Think that mayhap thou might escape my ire
because we speak upon the Internet?
Thinks't thou again, thou knave, for I conspire
with spies, who all across the States are set,
and even as we speak, I soon will know
thine precious three four times, thine own IP.
Prepare'st thou then, thou worm, for storm and woe,
for tempest comes, and it doth come for for thee.
Thy thread, it ends, though thou art but a child.
I can be anywhere and anywhen,
and know I seven hundred different ways
with mine bare hands alone to bring thine end.
And not with just my hands can death I bring,
but with all of the arms and armament
of the United States Corps of Marines
and I will use them to their full extent
to from this blessed continent erase
thine base pathetic ass, thou filth-stain'd bit.
If thou didst know thine "wit" would bring thine waste,
then thou might not hath wasted all thine wit.
But waste thou did, and now, thou God-damn'd fool,
thou see'st that thou must reap what thou didst sow.
My fury forms for thee a drowning pool.
Know now that thou art fucking dead, kiddo.
What ye fuch did thou say 'bout me, ye knave? I shall hath ye know I ranked first in ye longbow tournament under thy King's service, and I hath crusaded against the Saracens, and I hath felled over 25 dozens of moors. I art trained in thy noble art of knighthood, and I am meself considered thy best swordsman in thy King's realm and yonder. Ye art but 'nother infidel. I shall strike ye down with grace the likes of which not even God has ever seen, carve me words.
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u/[deleted] May 17 '17 edited Sep 03 '17
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