WHAN that Aprille with his shoures soote
The droghte of Marche hath perced to the roote,
And bathed every veyne in swich licour,
Of which vertu engendred is the flour; Whan Zephirus eek with his swete breeth
Inspired hath in every holt and heeth
The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne Hath in the Ram his halfe cours y-ronne.
‘WHAN that Aprille with his shoures soote...’
what a beautiful rendering of the mixture of evolving Norman French and Anglo Saxon...
Whatever you do, don’t tick off Grendel’s mother.