Yesterday eve I was wonderly wroth to discover that the illness that had infected me before had once again opened within me, that its button was all to-brast and the soreness of the throat had returned. And I said, Thou false recreant student, whoever thou art, that hast to-give me of the illness yet again, I said, I shall find thee out and smite thee with mine sword, or if not mine sword, then with mine pen of bad grading. For though thou art perhaps a true student, I said, who meant not the harm that thou hast caused me, still thou hast had a sneezing on a paper, or it may be a coughing in the office upon the hours thereof, I said, and thou hast all forsickened me yet again, much to my weariness thereat, wherefore thou art a false recreant student and a traitor, and I would like to have thee all to-brent, but law forbids it. And thus I spent another weekend lying about feeling pitiful, and could not take my ease there at that time.
And so with great dolor out of measure I began to resort again unto mine cold medicine, and there was weeping, or if not weeping at least I fell down aswooning, for the cold medicine made me wonderly weary and I fell down as though dead and lay as a corse for many a long hour.
I'm teaching Malory these days, and I find the language working its way into my brain. Indulging its rhythms here is my solace in this time of sickness. You should try it sometime.
And fine, "Haughty Dame" is more of a Chretienism, but I couldn't resist.