Excerpt from The Canterbury Tails

(I am in many ways a very trivial person - this Anzac Day I have nothing to offer by way of thoughts about war, human sacrifice, the fallen soldiers of Australia and New Zealand, or such like. Instead, I have spent the previous half hour penning the following domestic poem. It is an imitation - or perhaps I should say an irritation - of Chaucer.)

Whan that Aprill with his shoures soote

The droghte of March hath perced to the roote

Than longen cattes to sitte hem doon on chaires,

And humans for to stroke their silkene hayres;

Than longen cattes to reste hem safe in boxe

Whiles humannes pat their grey and spottey lockes;

Than longen cattes to hide beneath ye bedde,

Whiles humannes swive uponne ye nette insteade. 

When Zephyrus, eek withe his frowzy mouthe

The welkin bloweth east, west, southe, northe, southe,

(Full sikerley, yt ys a bloustrous daye,

Plusse wilde, wette, woollie, grimme eek also graye),

Than longen folke to loll and tak their ease,

In bedde, on couche, with crackers, eek with cheese;

Than longen cats to jumpe in open lappe,

And curle in balle, and purre, and have a nappe.

To goon on pilgrimage? Manne, be ye nuts? 

The footy's on - sitte doon eek watche, ye putz!