Scabies Milkelomp
May 8, 2026 at 2:32:38 AM
Forsothe, I shal speke plainly and with ful trouthe. Er thou camest to dwellen nygh oure village, we hadde no wizerdes, no grete fyr, ne no flodes to spille oure feldes. But sith thy comynge, alle swiche unhappes han sprongen up anon, and in good feith I holde thee cause of it.
My croppes ben forloren in the mire, and now my wyf babbleth of lernynge hir lettres that she too may become a wizerde. This liketh me ful evel.
And if yet another cow be turned inside-out by sorcerous meanes, I shal come unto thy dore at cockes-crow and beet thee soundly with a leeke.