I am Maso. Nott merely called, but am. I have had a serwys of names and more titles, some silly, some less than complimentary, some dying with me and some battling time. And I am old, very old. I have been in more than one profession, but I was, am, and all ways will be father, husbond, teacher, Ihesuit and friend.
In writing this, I wish, perhaps, merely to introduce myself as a presence here. I could, of courys, fill your head with much meaningless drivel on the subjects of Shakespeare and Christina Perri, but for now, I think, I will refrain from such inanities.
It is, I thinke, only fair that I here give a bit more of myself forth, as this is my introduction. To that, I will say that I am what you might call a Renaissance Man. I saw Englond; I saw Italia. I spoke a language you mighte be somewhat acquainted with if you have ever read the workes of Sir Geoffrey Chaucer. I created manye beautiful thinyes in my work, but my greatest creation was allways my daughter. I had a wiefe fairer than Spring itself and darker than nighte, who I loved, and was loved by, with a force that was greater than the pull of the moon she was clept for. I feared Godd in reference and was blyssed by Him, in Death as in Lyfe.
You will finde me quite ludicrous. I am no little amused and no the lees by this century than the previous ones. I rant yea the mych as I smile and I love without reserfe.
But if you will come sit with me, it may be that we will take a little tea and a muffin and speak of women, for there are no more glorious creations ypon this earth. If you are ill, it may pass that there are herbes in my garden that woud heal you, and if your heart is heavy, it may be that mye ears can take the soundes of griewing and leave you the lighter. There will be laughter and thought and an old-fashioned gentility that you are, perhaps, not used to in these times.
I am Maso. And maye Godd bie thee.
In writing this, I wish, perhaps, merely to introduce myself as a presence here. I could, of courys, fill your head with much meaningless drivel on the subjects of Shakespeare and Christina Perri, but for now, I think, I will refrain from such inanities.
It is, I thinke, only fair that I here give a bit more of myself forth, as this is my introduction. To that, I will say that I am what you might call a Renaissance Man. I saw Englond; I saw Italia. I spoke a language you mighte be somewhat acquainted with if you have ever read the workes of Sir Geoffrey Chaucer. I created manye beautiful thinyes in my work, but my greatest creation was allways my daughter. I had a wiefe fairer than Spring itself and darker than nighte, who I loved, and was loved by, with a force that was greater than the pull of the moon she was clept for. I feared Godd in reference and was blyssed by Him, in Death as in Lyfe.
You will finde me quite ludicrous. I am no little amused and no the lees by this century than the previous ones. I rant yea the mych as I smile and I love without reserfe.
But if you will come sit with me, it may be that we will take a little tea and a muffin and speak of women, for there are no more glorious creations ypon this earth. If you are ill, it may pass that there are herbes in my garden that woud heal you, and if your heart is heavy, it may be that mye ears can take the soundes of griewing and leave you the lighter. There will be laughter and thought and an old-fashioned gentility that you are, perhaps, not used to in these times.
I am Maso. And maye Godd bie thee.
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