"Bullwynkle, for thy crimes thee hath much mercy to receyve, whilst the prees hath drede to give it."
"Whoa there, Strange Fellow. Where am I?"
"Stifle wel thyself in the King's corte of lawes. Thy crimes are sondry tonges, unkouth tonges, noon of hem the King's. I am sergent of lawes and wud kepe thee fre of diffamacioun."
"Thanks, Strange Fellow, I guess. What rights do I have here?"
"Thee hath non but two: silence and truth."
"Two rights make a wrong, so I'm outta here."
"Tempest thee noght al croked to redresse, for trouthe thee shal deivere, it is no drede."
"Here is the truth, Strange Fellow--"
"Sergeant Chaucer of the Court, if it please thee."
"Chaucer of the Court, you've got the wrong fellow. Where I come from, I talk right, for a moose. Mooses don't have to talk like people. So I'll just moosey along..."
"Ye are not man? Forth, beste, out of thy stal, afore I call the Sergeant of Witches!"
"Later, pal. And you doesn't have to call me a beaste."
(borrowed in part for Chaucer's translation of Balade de Bon Conseyl)