Bizarre Jobs of the Middle Ages

      Jobs during the Medieval time period were far more bizarre and outrageous than jobs in today’s world. One job during the Middle Ages that I would be more willing to do is the Treadmill Worker. The Treadmill workers are the people behind the power of the crane. It is a physically demanding job, as well as, very dangerous. However, I believe that if you were cautious about your surroundings and what you were doing, then this job would be much better than the other jobs that include cooking with worms, healing with eels, or being surrounded by blood-sucking leeches. The Treadmill workers were very brave and strong. They risked their lives daily to perform their jobs. Treadmill workers helped evolve technology by improving the system and creating new ideas.

      The worst job during the Middle Ages was the Leech Collector. This job was very painful and grotesque. The Middle Ages were a time of medical advancements, most of which involved ridiculous treatments that rarely were successful. Leeches are worms found in water that bite into human skin and suck blood. The Leech Collectors would walk barefoot into the water where multiple leeches would attach to their skin and drink their blood. Walking into the water, suffering the pain of bites and blood loss was the way to catch the leeches for future treatments. This is a job that I would never in a million years want to have.

Tour Of Anglo-Saxon Website!

     Welcome to the best informational website where you will find all you need to know about Anglo-Saxon history! On this wonderful site you will learn about who the Anglo-Saxons were, their beliefs, how they grew up, their laws and rulers, and much more about the average life on an Anglo-Saxon. The Anglo-Saxons were a mixture of people from North Germany, Denmark and Northern Holland, who settled in Britain 400 years after the Romans invaded. As you will learn on this site, most Anglo-Saxons were farmers. Since they lived close to the sea and large rivers, they were also sailors. The Anglo-Saxons built wooden ships with oars and sails for trade, and to help them travel to new land. These people were religious; however, they were not Christian. Most Anglo-Saxons worshiped many gods and shared similar beliefs to the Celts. You will find on the fantastic site that the Anglo-Saxons participated in many eventful activities in their free time. They liked to tell stories about brave warriors, they created riddles, they got together for many feasts, and they loved playing rough and boisterous sports such as wrestling and weight lifting. You might be wondering, who ruled the Anglo-Saxons and did they have a specific government plan? On this website you will learn about all the kings and laws of the Anglo-Saxons. One noteworthy ruler was Alfred the Great. He is the only king in British history to be called “Great”. King Alfred was advised by a council of nobles and church leaders called the witan. The Anglo-Saxons are remembered for many reasons including their contributions to the English language, sports, food, and many more things that are frequently practiced today in America. On this site you will gain a special knowledge of what the Anglo-Saxons were about, who they were, how they lived, and what happened to them. You will not regret touring this supreme website!

"To be, or not to be" Translation

To be, or not to be, that is the question:

Whether it is nobler to suffer

The slings and arrows of an unbearable situation,

Or to declare war on the seas of troubles that afflict one,

And by opposing them, to end them. To die, to sleep-

And with that sleep we end

The heartaches and the thousand natural miseries

That humans have to endure

It is an end that we all hope for. To die, to sleep-

To sleep. Perhaps a dream. There’s the obstacle,

Because in that sleep of death the dreams we might have,

When we have shed this mortal body,

Must make us pause. That’s the respect

That creates the calamity of such a long life:

For who would bare all the horrible things of this world,

The tyrant’s offenses against us, the contempt of proud men,

The pain of rejected love,

The insolence of authority, and the advantage

That the worst people take of the best,

When one could just release himself

With a blade. Who would carry this load?

Grunting and sweating under the burden of a weary life,

If it weren’t for the dread of the afterlife,

The undiscovered country from whose border

No traveler returns. That is what confounds us,

And makes us put up with the evils we know,

Rather than hurry to ones we don’t know about.

This reflection does make cowards of us all,

And follows the natural complexion of resolution

To end our life is obscured by reflecting on it.

And great and important plans are diluted,

To the point where we don’t do anything.

The fair Ophelia. Listen to my prayers.

Let all of my sins be remembered.

Actual text
To be, or not to be, that is the question:Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles
And by opposing end them. To die—to sleep,
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to: 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep, perchance to dream—ay, there's the rub:
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause—there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life.
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
Th'oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of dispriz'd love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of th'unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscovere'd country, from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pitch and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry
And lose the name of action.

The Trouble With Writing

I seriously can not think of words.
All day I have sat here, alone, thinking
I wish I could, like those poetic nerds.
But all my hope is falling down, sinking.
This homework really drives me up the wall.
Can she not see it's tough for me to rhyme?
It shouldn't be this hard, this hard at all.
Assignments like this should be a real crime.
If I, somehow, defeat this writer's block,
I think she should give me a passing grade.
If she does not, I shall be in great shock.
I mean, look at the progress I have made.
All I can do is try my very best.
When I am done at last, I won't be stressed.