The Wife's Qweeth

The wife's qweeth is a well known old english yeed. It's overset into Anglish is given bellow

I am reiching this yeed about myself, very sad, my own sith. I can say this, what eerms I lived through, after I grew up, early or late, never more now. Ever I have thrawed the hardship of my far-from-home-ness.

First my lord went away hence from his folk over the astiring of the waves, I had chire at dawn where my prince on earth might be. Then I set out to seek folgth, a friendless far-from-homeness because of my woeful need.

The men's kinsmen began to plot hiddenly, that they might sunder us two, in such a way that we too, most widely sundered in the world lived most wretchedly -- and I thrawed longing. My Lord yebbened me to take up my dwelling here, I had a few deer, loyal friends in this landsted. Therefore my heart is sad, since I had found the man very well suited to me ill starred, downcast, theching his mind, plotting a deadly sin. With woonful jibs, we too very often had vowed that nothing else but death alone would set us asunder, this in turn is the other way around, it is now as if it had never been our love. Far and dear I must thole the loth of my very dear one. I was yebbened to dwell in the grove of the woods under an oak tree in this cave and the earth. This cave dwelling is oldfull, I am utterly dretched with longing, the valleys are dark, but hills high, chart hedges, grown over with briars, a woonless dwelling. Very often the leaving of my Lord has dreft me rethly here. There are beloved friends living on earth, besit their bed, while I am walking alone at dawn under the oak tree through these caves in the year. There I may sit the long summers day, there I can weep over my exile, many hardships, for I cannot ever rest from this unhappiness of mine nor from all the longing which has come upon me in this life.

Ever may a young men have to be sad of mind, grieving is the thought of his heart, at the same time as he is obliged to keep a cheerful jib, and furthermore dref of heart, a manyiness of never-ending soul sorrows -- may all his woon in the world be offhanging on himself alone, may he be outlawed very far away in a far-away land, so that my beloved will sit under a rocky slope, frosted by storm, a weary-souled lord. My, lord, drenched with water and a gloomy hall. My Lord is throwing great chire of soul he remembers too often a more woonful dwelling. Woe will be to the one who must wait for a loved one in longing.

WORSTOCK: all the Anglish words bellow were forshaped from Old English

reich: recite

yeed-poem

sith-experience

eerm-mysery

thraw-suffer

chire-anxiety

folgth-service

yebben-command

landsted-region

woon-joy

thech-oppress

dreft-afflict

reth-cruel

qweeth-lament

Reference: Robert E. Diamond, Old English Grammar and Reader.