Anglish thread

[Creoda]

For those that don't know:
http://anglish.wikia.com/wiki/What_is_Anglish%3F

Write only words here that come from Old English, as well as those that came by way of the Northmen, that need not be untangled from their kindred Theedish tunge after more than a thousand years within. Posts can be dealing with anything you like, so long as they abide by the aforesaid settings.

[Creoda]

Some Lores ("Studies" in mainstream English)

"Astrology" - Starcraft
"Astronomy" - Starlore
"Biology" - Lifelore
"Botany" - Wortlore
"Craniology" - Skull-lore
"Dermatology" - Skinlore
"Genealogy" - Kinlore
"Geography" - Worldlore
"Geology" - Stonelore
"Haematology" - Bloodlore
"Heliology" - Sunlore
"Linguistics" - Speechlore
"Meteorology" - Weatherlore
"Mixology" - Drinklore
"Neurology" - Brainlore
"Optics" - Sightlore
"Ornithology" - Birdlore
"Theology" - Godlore

[Creoda]

Hamlet's Aside

To be, or not to be – that is the asking:
Whether ‘tis worthier in the mind to bear
The slings and arrows of unbound mishap
Or to take fight against a sea of agenbite
And by gainstanding end them. To die, to sleep –
No more – and by a sleep to say we end
The heartache, and the thousand worldly blows
That flesh is born to. ‘Tis an ending
Dearly to be wished. To die, to sleep –
To sleep – maybe to dream: ay, there’s the rub,
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shed our living body,
Must make us stop. There’s the thought
That makes wretchedness of so long life.
For who would bear the whips and slights of time,
Th’ overlord’s wrong, the strutter’s cockiness
The wrench of unanswered love, the law’s sloth,
The brazenness of might, and the spurns
That forbearing goodness of th’ unworthy takes,
When he himself might his settling make
With a bare bradawl? Who would burdens bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that dread of something after death,
The shrouded land, from whose bosom
No wayfarer comes home, upsets the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than to fly to others we know not of?
Thus awareness does make chickens of us all,
And thus the inborn hue of a strong will
Is sicklied o’er with the wan cast of thought,
And undertakings of great worth and weight
Upon this heed their flood eddies and ebbs
And lose the name of doing. – Soft thee now,
The fair Ophelia! – Maiden, in thy beseeching
Bear all my sins in mind.