I am not merry, but rather filled with glee; I possess sunshine in a satchel. I am naught but for a fleeting span, as the morrow doth draw near. I am not merry, but rather filled with glee; I possess sunshine in a satchel. I am naught but for a fleeting span, as the morrow doth draw near. It approacheth, it approacheth! It approacheth, it approacheth! At last, one hath liberated me from mine enclosure; henceforth, time is of naught, for I count not the years. Perchance I could not be present; thou shouldst harbor no fear. I possess skills in reparations, lurking under each snare. Ethereal (ah, ye all), dost thou not perceive? I bid thee, survey this panoramic vista (thou). Behold, I shall make all manageable; select and decide, thou shalt forfeit thine varied bands. Maidens and gallants, who dost thou reckon truly hath the knack for tuneful beats? Imagine thyself engaged in a pictorial tube, as though thou hast kindled the fuse; dost thou deem it phantasmagorical? Enigmatic? Mayhap. A spiritual champion, manifesting to cleanse thine vision when thou art overly bewildered. Lifeless to those who embody the essence of existence; invaluable unto thee, for I have elevated thee upon the shifting tides of enthusiasm. Didst thou find favor? Savoring the righteous with a solitary toke, thou art clairvoyant, seizing possession with a single inhalation. I am not merry, but rather filled with glee; I possess sunshine in a satchel. I am naught but for a fleeting span, as the morrow doth draw near. I am not merry, but rather filled with glee; I possess sunshine in a satchel. I am naught but for a fleeting span, as the morrow doth draw near. It approacheth, it approacheth! It approacheth, it approacheth!

>>127124991 (OP)
that's more middle English than old English

>>127124991 (OP)
moron

Kino

Thou merry!
Thou feeling glad
I hast hasheesh!
In a bag!
I doth useless
For not long!
For the morrow!
Is coming along!

>>127125085
No it's not. Middle English is Chaucer:

Whan that Aprill, with his shoures soote
The droghte of March hath perced to the roote
And bathed every veyne in swich licour,
Of which vertu engendred is the flour;
Whan Zephirus eek with his sweete breeth
Inspired hath in every holt and heeth
The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne
Hath in the Ram his halfe cours yronne,
And smale foweles maken melodye,
That slepen al the nyght with open eye-
(So priketh hem Nature in hir corages);
Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages
And palmeres for to seken straunge strondes
To ferne halwes, kowthe in sondry londes;
And specially from every shires ende
Of Engelond, to Caunterbury they wende,
The hooly blisful martir for to seke
That hem hath holpen, whan that they were seeke.

http://www.librarius.com/canttran/gptrfs.htm

Old English is Beowulf.