“I am almoost beshytten”: A 16th Century English to Latin Textbook -The Toast

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The following phrases have been excerpted from an English to Latin textbook printed in the early 16th century (Auct. 2Q 5.9(4)), which has been digitized by the Bodleian Library at the University of Oxford as part of an ongoing project. You can read the whole thing here or learn more about the project here. (You can also follow us on Twitter if you like the sound of #damagedmanuscriptThursday.)

Good morrowe.
Good nyght.
God spede.
How farest thou.
I fare well thanked be god.
Whyder goest thou.
I go to the syege.
I shall bere the company.
How doth my fader.
He was at the poynt of dethe.
Gyue me breed.
Thou shalt haue ony thynge that I haue.
Drynke first and I wyll nexte.
Drynke agayne.
I am sure thou louest me not.

There is one at the dore wyll speke with the.
I praye thee come se me at home.
He is fallen a slepe.
Garlyke maketh a man to slepe.
I wyll wrastle with the.
If thou wrastle with me I shal laye the on thy back.
I haue dronke a ferthynge worthe of ale.
I perceyue by many tokens thou arte not my frende.
I was beten this mornynge.
I haue loked longe for the.
I am lefte alone.
Profred seruyce stynketh.
Wype thy nose.
Snuffe the candell.
I am rydde of my moneye.
Syt away or I shall gyue the a blowe.
Sayst thou this in ernest or in game.
We must not ete flesshe.
It is fastynge day commaunded by the chyrche.

He cleped me about the myddle.
I loue the as me lyfe.
All my felowes hate thy company.
He hath taken my boke fro me.
Goo hens.
He came stelynge upon me.
He came openly upon me.
It longeth to a scoler to speke latyn.
All my trust is in the.
Thou stoppest my light.
Fetche me water for my handes.
I am wery of study.
I am wery of my lyfe.

My mayster commaundeth hym to you.
What countreman arte thou.
I am an englysshe man.
My fader is an aeged man.
My purse is heuy with monye.
I lye in a feder bedde euery nyght.
He is a boystous man.
What part syngest thou.
I am almoost beshytten.
Thou stynkest.
I beshrowe the.
Well mote thou fare I praye god.
Yf thou take not hede to thy lernynge thou wylt neuer thryue.
What mynde arte thou in, to be a preest or a wedded man.

Laye the table.
Set salte and spones.
Thou arte a false knaue.
The fatte stycket to te rofe of my mouthe.
He is well wasshed.
He is dronke weith ale.
He is blynde.
He is madde.
Souper is done.
I am hongry.
I thyrste.
The coke is a good seasoner of meete.

He is an outragyous ladde.
Lende me the copy of thy latyn and I shall gyue it the agayne by and by.
Thou playest the knaue.
My fader hathe a greate losse on the see.
Thou arte worthy to be hanged.
I had great angre for thy loue.
I haue done asmoche for the as thou for me.
I shall matche the at all games.
Thou hyttest the nayle on the heed.
I haue spoken a payre of shone agaynst sondaye.
Be the dayes neuer so longe at last cometh evensonge.
He is euyll a colde that goeth naked in the frost.
I haue pyte on the.
Thou blamest me without a cause.
Thou answered me not as thou sholde do.

His mouth is a wrye.
His nose is lyke a shoynge horne.
My throte is hors.
My heed is full of lyce.
My heed aketh.
He is euer chattynge.
I haue plente of wyne.
His speche pleased me not.
The mayster gaue me a blowe on the cheke.
The tree hangeth full apples.
The waye renneth full of shepe.
He is sowsed in water.
The hors trotteth.
It lyeth not in my power.
Be mery and flee care.

The fader is gladde to here the sone praysed.
What the deuyll doest thou here.
Thou strykest me that dare not stryke agayne.
Yf I were thy matche I wolde not dye in thy dette.
It is shrewed to Iape with naked swerdes.
He is croke backed.
I shall kyll the with myne owne knyfe.
I had no leser to ete nor drynke.
My shoes ben broken.
I am wete shodde.
I were slyppers & pynsons.
He is boted and spurred and redy to ryde.
He is a cocolde.
He is moche in dette.
He hathe maryed a wyfe.
I shall mary my doughter to the.
Thou spekest many words to me but nothynge to the porpose.

The meet is rawe.
The flesshe is rosted ynough.
I haue blotted my boke.
The chyldren be styrynge aboute in the maysters absence.
He rynseth the pottes.
He is borne to drynke well both on the faders syde and moders syde.
He is deed.
I praye the utter not this mater.
Yf I scape this daunger I wyll neuer aventure so moche.
Proue me wherder I loue the or not.
I coniecture in my mynde what thou menest.
What menest thou.
Apoynte me were I shall mete with the.
Syth I went hens I was neuer mery.
I am at my wyttes ende.
Thou arte a blabbe.
I loue the.
This pot wyll holde no water.

He kepeth hys feest to daye.
He must go to the feldes on thurysdaye.
I was not borne to a halfpeny.
We were borne in one countre. Therfore we must loue well togyder.
Ryot is the destruccyon of all yonge men.
He standeth in his owne conceyt.
He is the veryest coward that euer pyst.
He is euyll fauoured.
Beggers ben ragged & baudy.
Brusshe thy gowne.
Gart thi hose.
Tye thy poyntes.
Untye thy poyntes.
It is properte of a woman to use scoldynge.
Let me a lone alytell whyle.
I haue made a loue daye bytwene them.
Archery is gyuen to me of nature.
Though peper be blacke it hath a good smacke.

Thou arte harde herted.
He hath ordeyend a staffe for his owne heed.
Se how lyke the one broder is the other.
It is the greatest madnes of the world to loue & be not loued agayne.
I sate at the table with the mayre and the sheryues.
If thou be angry with me without a cause, thou shalte be made at one without amendes.
Thou takest the best morsel thy selfe.
I am dyspoynted of an hors.
I am faderles and moderles.
I am mased in my mynde.
Let me alone or I shall complayne on the.
Take not my words to hert.
My tethe ben on edge.
Take hede to thy selfe.
I loue the as well as ony man.
I am the best louer that thou hast.

If ony man aske for me, saye thou sawest me not.
Nyght is comen vpon me.
There is a smyth on the other syde of my faders.
I haue a good cause to chide with the.
Thou art worthy to be bette.
My nose leueth bledynge.
Drawe a cuppe of ale.
Tourne the spytte.
He wepeth.
Thou mockest me.
Stande out of my waye.
He is redy to fight.
He is poysoned.
He burst in the myddle.
He lened on me.
He plucketh me by the nose.

I am seuen yere olde.
I lacke a boke.
Thou hast take my goodes fro me.
He smote me with a dager.
The corne rypeth fast.
I haue knowen hym sythe he was borne.
He ranne awaye without leue.
The henne hath layde an egge.
Here ben many praty maydens.
Lyfte vp bothe thy handes to god.
He is a nygarde.
He is a waster.
He is dylygent.
I am so feble that I am not able to stande on my fete.
Thou takest me otherwise than I speke.
Be ware in welthe or thou be woo.
Thou hast done me wronge.
Thou bylyuest me not.
I trust not the.

His face is merueylously chaunded.
Iacke napes maketh a mowe.
Put away all fere thou hast no cause to be aferde.
I coughed all nyght.
He is a noble man of warre.
It is a goodly woman.
He hath spued all in his bely.
My fader is a great man of lands.
My fader is thryfty.
Chyldren be brought up with great cost of the fader & moder.
I knowe not the mater.
They make a fraye in the strete.
I was not borne to a fote of lande.
A gyuen hors may not be loked in the tethe.
It is a chyldysshe thynge.
I haue breed.
This gowne is mete for me.
He is dronke.

He is an euyll coke that can not lycke his owne lyppes.
I am sory for the dethe of my fader.
I had leuer thou had gyuen me nothynge than to cast me in the tethe withall.
I haue all the tethe that nature gyueth me.
Thou takest more vpon the than thou can bere.
This man is totheles.
Thou hast serued me gentylly.
I haue a dull wytte.
This is a great sclaunder to the.
Put the wrathe out of thy stomacke.
The ayre is full of cloudes.
By my trouthe I lyed not.
He hath broken his heed ayenst the wall.
Wolde god we myght go to playe.
The dayes ben longe in somer.
The dayes ben short in wynter.
I ete browne breed.

He hath all the maners of a gentylman.
Thou lokest on me as thou woldest ete me.
He dyed sodeynly.
He hath layde watch for me.
We be but of a shorte aquayntaunce.
I trowe we shall be better aquaynted.
I haue begyled hym.
I beshrowe such loue.
Thou hast slepte ynough yf the deuyll be not in the.
I hadde leuer go to my boke than to be bete.
I may curse the tyme that euer I came hyther.
Thou pynchest me.
Thou playest the foole.
I haue goten his good wyll.
Thou playest the madde man.
I am worste of all my felowes.
I shal hele thy dysease.
My mynde is not set to me boke.
My gowne is the worste in all the scole.
Wysshers and wolders be small housholders.
I go my waye.
Nothynge but god preserue you.

Emma Stanford is a library assistant working in the UK. She rings bells a lot.

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