By Deenys Shepherd
It usually beeth not in mine nature to have opinions – for such things art considered defiance amongst the peasantry – but on this one matter I just hadst to speaketh up.
I fycken love sheep. Plain and and simple.
I love following them around the pastures for 18 hours a day until my feet bleed. I love sheering them so the Royal Guard can confiscate their woole and leave me with nothing until next season. I love sleeping on them at night as soft pillows whilst I dream of the Glory of The King!
Sure, I don’t knoweth anathing else. And sure, mine kin and I hath been mandated by our social system to be shepherds in perpetuity. And also sure, the Royal Guard patrols hath made very clear that any deviance of production of fyne woole for the Royal Vestments wouldst be punish’d moste severely.
But e’en if ‘twer not for those things, I wouldst still fycken love sheep.
Many lowbornes doth complain about such trivialities as “We don’t lyke being poor” and “All my crops art paid as tribute to m’lord, hence mine family is starving.” Well calleth me olde fashioned, but mebelieves one ist borne into his lot in lyfe, and ’tis one’s duty to doeth what The King decrees and not ask questions or complain. Once thou accepts that, perchance thou wilt love thy lowly lot in lyfe as much as I love sheep.
So I ask of thee, fellow peasants, cannest thou learn to love thy lowly lot in lyfe as much as I love mine? This will much please His Majesty, which is of all things moste important.
The King’s will beeth done!
Note: hither article not written under duress or at swordpoint upon threat of death.