Sheryl issued a challenge for me to "Buffyize" Chaucer, and I said, "ya sure, the more English writers I can get spinning in their graves, the happier I am!" So, here you go:
The Franklin's Tale
Love wol nat been constreyned by maistrye.
Whan maistrie comth, the God of love anon
Beteth his wynges, and farewel, Angyl is gon!
Love is a thyng as any spirit free.
Buffyn, of kynde, desiren libertee,
And nat to been constreyned as a thral;
And so doon men, if I sooth seyen shal.
Looke who that is moost pacient in love,
She is at his advantage al above.
Or we could try this (which is actually *frighteningly* apt): The Squire's Tale
The norice of digesioun, the sleep,
Gan on hem wynke and bad hem taken keep
That muchel drynke and labour wolde han reste;
And with a galpyng mouth Angyl alle he keste,
And seyde that it was tyme to lye adoun,
For blood was in his domynacioun.
"Cherisseth blood, natures freend," quod Angyl he.
They thanken Angyl galpynge, by two, by thre,
And every Buffyn gan drawe hym to his reste,
As sleep hem bad; they tooke it for the beste.
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