This website is for those who like The history of the english language.
In my opinion this one is the best I've ever found.
http://www.acepilots.com/bard/ws_word.html
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Who am I???
- Fernandão Pereira
- Sorocaba, São Paulo, Brazil
- Well, I like enjoying my life and hate when people get me bored... Studying English is among all of my passions, because I've ever been studying this, since I was in elementary school. For me, becoming an English teacher would be a fulfilled dream... I also like going out and I'm never far away from my cold beer... So, this is me...
GOD'S VENGEANCE ON LUCIFER AND ON ADAM
Bot I have herkned and herde of mony hy3e clerkez,
And als in resounez of ry3t red hit myselven,
Þat þat ilk proper Prynce þat paradys weldez
Is displesed at uch a poynt þat plyes to scaþe.
Bot never 3et in no boke breved I herde
Þat ever he wrek so wyþerly on werk þat he made,
Ne venged for no vilte of vice ne synne,
Ne so hastyfly watz hot for hatel of his wylle,
Ne never so sodenly so3t unsoundely to weng[e],*
As for fylþe of þe flesch þat foles han used.
For, as I fynde, þer he for3et alle his fre þewez,*
And wex wod to þe wrache for wrath at his hert.
For þe fyrste felonye þe falce fende wro3t,
Whyl he watz hy3e in þe heven hoven upon lofte,
Of alle þyse aþel aungelez attled þe fayrest;
And he unkyndely as a karle kydde a reward.*
He se3 no3t bot hymself how semly he were,
Bot his Soverayn he forsoke, and sade þyse wordez:
'I schal telde up my trone in þe tramountayne,*
And by lyke to þat Lorde þat þe lyft made.'
With þis worde þat he warp, þe wrake on hym ly3t,
Dry3tyn wyth his dere dom hym drof to þe abyme,
In þe mesure of his mode, his metz never þe lasse;*
Bot þer he tynt þe tyþe dool of his tour ryche.
Þa3 þe feloun were so fers for his fayre wedez [folio 64a]
And his glorious glem þat glent so bry3t,
As sone as Dry3tynez dome drof to hymselven,
Þikke þowsandez þro þrwen þeroute,*
Fellen fro þe fyrmament fendez ful blake,
[S]weved at þe fyrst swap as þe snaw þikke,*
Hurled into helle-hole as þe hyve swarmez.
Fy[lt]er fenden folk forty dayez lencþe,*
Er þat styngande storme stynt ne my3t;*
Bot as smylt mele under smal sive smokez forþikke,*
So fro heven to helle þat hatel schor laste,
On uche syde of þe worlde aywhere ilyche.*
Þis hit watz a brem brest and a byge wrache;*
And 3et wrathed not þe Wy3, ne þe wrech sa3tled,*
Ne never wolde for wyl[fulnes] his worþy God knawe,*
Ne pray hym for no pite, so proud watz his wylle.
Forþy þa3 þe rape were rank, þe rawþe watz lyttel;*
Þa3 he be kest into kare, he kepes no better.
Bot þat oþer wrake þat wex, on wy3ez hit ly3t
Þur3 þe faut of a freke þat fayled in trawþe,
Adam inobedyent, ordaynt to blysse,*
Þer pryvely in paradys his place watz devised,
To lyve þer in lykyng þe lenþe of a terme,
And þenne enherite þat home þat aungelez forgart;
Bot þur3 þe eggyng of Eve he ete of an apple
Þat enpoysened alle peplez þat parted fro hem boþe,
For a defence þat watz dy3t of Dry3tyn selven,
And a payne þeron put and pertly halden.
Þe defence watz þe fryt þat þe freke towched,*
And þe dom is þe deþe þat drepez uus alle.
Al in mesure and meþe watz mad þe veng[a]unce,*
And efte amended wyth a mayden þat make
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