For we Englysshe men ben borne under the domynacyon of the mone, whiche is never stedfaste but ever waverynge, wexynge one season and waneth and dyscreaseth another season. And that comyn Englysshe that is spoken in one shyre varyeth from a-nother, in so moche that in my dayes happened that certayn marchauntes were in a ship in Tamyse for to have sayled over the see into Zelande, and, for lacke of wynde, thei taryed atte Forlond, and wente to lande for to refreshe them. And one of theym named Sheffelde, a mercer, cam in to an hows and axed for mete and specyally he axyd after , and the goode wyf answerde that she could speke no Frenshe. And the marchaunt was angry, for he also coude speke no Frenshe, but wolde have hadde ; and she understode hym not. And thenne at laste a-nother sayd that he wolde have . Then the good wyf sayd that she understod hym wel. Loo, what sholde a man in thyse dayes now wryte, , or ? Certaynly it is hard to playse every man, by-cause of dyversite and chaunge of langage.
William Caxton