I can’t stand Chaucer…but I love this

Dumbledore’s death in the style of Geoffrey Chaucer

The Poppynge of the Clogges

At Hogwarte’s, schoole of wizardrye,

Unfoldeth drede folle tragedie!

Yonge Ron Weasleye, and classmayt Pottyr:

Fallen preye to ‘tvylerottyr,

Who, throughoute Harry’s sadde lyfe,

Hath been the source of muche stryfe;

Hys parente’s lyves, rendyred shorte,

By naughtie manne: Voldemorte!

Pottyr and freynd, in’t towyr trapp’d,

At mercie of thyss eevil ratte!

What woe! What payn! Unluckiness!

To looke upon poor boye’sdystresse.

“Fore all thysse tyme, my plans you’ve foyled,

Designs divertyd, and schemes despoyled!”

So began the Dark Lorde’sawfolle gloatyng,

And standarde baddeguy show?boatynge,

“But not todaye, you little shytte!

Payn’s true meanynge, thou shalt wytte!”

And so commenceth vyle torture,

Whose detayle here ’tis harde to utter,

Arms asunder, Fingeres chopp?d,

Elbowes burned, and thynges off-lopp?d!

The outlook bleake for our hero,

But survival’s chaunce is not yette zero!

In darkest cornere, unknown to’t villayne,

Creeps Dumbledore, to sayve yon children!

Evil’s wand is raysed for’t fynalle tyme,

To finyshoff thysse horrid cryme:

‘Farewelle Pottyr, we’ve had some jokes,

But now thou shalt be with thine folks!’

At thysse, yon Darke Lordesends a shotte,

To putte the ende to Pottyr’slotte,

But ‘fore the blast can Harry ice,

Brayve Dumbledore makes sacrifyce::

In Black Magyck’s pathe he jumpes hedelonge,

For Pottyr’s lyfe to helpe prolonge.

‘It styngs! It burnes! Mine de this come!

From bolt of lightnynge up my bumme!’

Though Pottyr’s sayved, his trusted friend,

Hath in this towyr met hys ende.

Yesse, Dumble’s Done, as is mine narratyv,

Of old lyfe, gonne, for yonger lyfeto lyv.

Tom Richardson

But not todaye, you little shytte! XD