Langland's Piers the Ploughman Much Shrunk

< This time of trouble so torn by terror, time of deep darkness and all-devouring death, this time of woe, high wages and much wenching is no time for pleasant pastorals and praises. I wander weary this winding way and wonder what future ills befall our faltering folk. Lady Favour fools high judges with her frippery. .Edward wends from week to week more bedward, grieving and grave and given much to groan, his grown heir new buried, his sole heir just a boy. In two palaces two popes preside and prate. O time of doubt and dismal dread of doom But tarry, till then is time to talk. I will not lie in Latin or fabricate in French. Shepherds shear sheep; the manor munches mutton. The bull in the field is the beef on the board. Thanks to a brute, that Norman nasty bully we have our mixed, of late much muzzled tongue. I have but this, but this is all I need, apart, that is, from a goblet full of mead. Update: Jean-Claude predicts our tongue's decline. Of this event I see no sign. Though people plunge, English ploughs on.> \