Forsan et haec olim scripsisse iuvabit.

Heads up, fellow medievalists. Geoffrey Chaucer recently interviewed MARGARATHE ATTE-WOOD who "nedeth no introduccioun, for her bookes and writinges are avaylable yn all the scriptoriums and scriveneres shoppes yn the globe of the erthe." Share and enjoy. Her disquisition on "the magical beastes of the far lande of Canade" will surely pique the interest of evil_little_dog and cornerofmadness.

So, you all knew that Geoffrey Chaucer Hath a Blog, right? Well, he's also got an opinion of Twilight (though, due to time/space distortions, his copy is entitled Vespers):

In this fyne book of sparklie vampyres, Bella Cygne moveth from Essex to Yorkshyre to lyve with her fathir, who ys a sheriff and escheator. At a scole ful of recentlie coyned stereotypes, she witnesseth the fayre skyn and fashion-sprede slow-mocioun hotenesse of the Cu Chulainn clan, the which have all eaten long ago of the magical Irisshe Salmon of Really Good Hair (oon byte of this magical salmon and ye shal have good hair for evir). Aftir Bella doth see the hottest of the clan, Edward, stop a wagon wyth hys bare handes, fight off twentie churles, and brood so much he did make Angel look lyk Mister Rogeres, she doth realise that the Cu Chulainns are vampyres. But they are good vampyres, who drinke wyne. Ther is considerablie moore sexual tensioun than in Piers Plowman.

His verdict?

Yt was actuallie pretty decent. Sure, the prose kynd of maketh Dives et Pauper look lyk George Orwelle, but the storie pulleth me yn.... Ich am thinkinge that I shal add a litel sparkle to that Tales of Canterburye projecte ich have been werkinge on for several yeeres nowe. Ich am now writing the recentlye-renamed Wyf of Bathory’s Prologue.

“Experience, though noon auctorite / Were in thys world were right enough for me / To knowe not to date a werewolf...”

Oh, Geoffrey ... I thought I knew ye ...

In the margins of a copy of The Woorkes of Geffrey Chaucer (imprinted at London by John Kingston for John Wight, dwelling in Paul's churchyard, 1561), next to the passage from The Tale of Melibee condemning courtly flatterers who

enforce hem alway rather to speke pleasaunt wordes enclinynge to the lordes lustes, than wordes that ben trew or profitable ...

someone has written (not altogether legibly):

Tom [Hunt?]
is a knave

The note has subsequently been scribbled upon in lighter ink. Some truths are best left unsaid, perhaps ... :-)