L. M.
We all laughed heartily at this non-sensical stuff, and I told mistress Dorothy that sure she was mistaken in the recital of these verses, and that they were to be said backwards, for that wayes that she repeated them I discovered the humour of our Poetical Lover, and Mistress Peggy by my directions returned him this answer.
Amorous Friend,
Tis much you should receive two infections at once, the one Love, the other Poetry, but it is not very strange since they commonly accompany one another, but i’le assure you ’tis dangerous, for you know the old Proverb, that sad are the effects of Love and Pease Porridge; and besides Poetry is commonly attended with Poverty, but after a strict perusal of your poetick Fancies, I find there is no great danger in your poetick infection, for unless you improve your self mightily it will be a long time e’re you be a compleat Poet, and since your Poetry and Love came together, it will be as long e’re you be a compleat Lover; now if you have still a mind to prosecute these two Designs, of Love and Poetry, I advise you to make use of some other more fit and sublime object that may raise your fancy to a higher pitch of eloquence, or at least wise sense, as you have been in verse. I return this answer to you in prose, and as you like this you may prosecute your Designs of Love and Poetry, with some other Object, but I pray give no more trouble to
Your Frind,
M. S.
This to the best of my remembrance was the answer to our Lovers poetical Letter, and although what we writ might have been enough to have dashed the designs of any other, yet our Lover came very confidently that evening, and thanked his Mistress for receiving his Letter, and answering it; telling her that he did acknowledge he had not as yet any great Skill in Poetry, but he had written his best, and intended and hoped in the next to mend it, and so he proceeded in his troublesome Love-Suit. Our Cook-maid coming into the room where we were, and having seen the Love Letter, it being made no secret, told us that she had a Love Letter sent her not long since, which in her opinion was better than that; and we believing that there must be somewhat in it worth the seeing, commanded her to fetch it, and giving it into my hands, I read these words.
Madam,
I Hope the Brains of your Beauty being boyl’d in the Kettle of Kindness with the Beef of Bounty, may at length prove a dish for my dyet, so that the Marrowbone of your Maidenhead being crack’d with the Chopping-knife of my Courage, may upon the Trencher of Truth declare how I love you; let not the minc’d meat of Modesty baked in the Oven of Hatred in the Crust of Coyness cause my Denial, lest the Dagger of Death being drenched in the Barrel of my Blood may with the Spiggot draw forth the Liquor of my Life.
Yours more than his own,