From The Exeter Book (11th century) housed in the Cathedral Library (in England) comes a riddle created by those clever monks- hey, I though it was funny.
I am a strange creature, for I satisfy women…
I grow very tall, erect in a bed,
I’m hairy underneath. From time to time
A beautiful girl, the brave daughter
Of some fellow dares to hold me
Grips my reddish skin, robs me of my head
And puts me in the pantry. At once that girl
With plaited hair who has confined me
Remembers our meeting. Her eye moistens.
A man came walking up where he knew
She stood in a corner, stepped forward;
The bold fellow plucked up his own
Skirt by hand, stuck something stiff
Beneath her belt as she stood,
Worked his will. They both wiggled.
The man hurried: his trusty helper
Plied a handy task, but tired
At length, less strong now than she,
Weary of the work. Thick beneath
Her belt swelled the thing good men
Praise with their hearts and purses.
A man came walking up where he knew
She stood in a corner, stepped forward;
The bold fellow plucked up his own
Skirt by hand, stuck something stiff
Beneath her belt as she stood,
Worked his will. They both wiggled.
The man hurried: his trusty helper
Plied a handy task, but tired
At length, less strong now than she,
Weary of the work. Thick beneath
Her belt swelled the thing good men
Praise with their hearts and purses.
So the eleventh century was cool. The common onion could satisfy a housewife. Men lifted their skirts (and wore them) with complete abandon. People who made their own butter developed large triceps from all the plunging.
