Poem of the day

Dedicated to people who have or had headaches today due to dealing with the dead last night and other mischief-making; and for serious serial sufferers, lyffe longe martyres to the mygraine. 

My heid did yak yester nicht,
This day to mak that I na micht.
So sair the magryme dois me menyie,
Perseing my brow as ony ganyie,
That scant I luik may on the licht.

And now, schir, laitlie, eftir mes,
To dyt thocht I begowthe to dres,
The sentence lay full evill til find,
Unsleipit in my heid behind,
Dullit in dulness and distres.

Full oft at morrow I upryse
Quhen that my curage sleipeing lyis.
For mirth, for menstrallie and play,
For din nor danceing nor deray,
It will not walkin me no wise.

William Dunbar (c. 1460-1520), “On his heid-acke”

And for those in need of further comic relief and other therapeutic treatments … 





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