Thy question lies at bottom of a well too deep for a maid to fathom, looking down from a balcony.
Fopdoodle.
Dear Miss Violet, may I come up?
Violet.
Thy ardor is alarming!
Fopdoodle.
Dear Miss Violet, my servant, Tom, has a ladder waiting for me, and I will climb to thee. Don’t be alarmed; I am harmless, O dazzling Violet!
Violet.
Lovers should have in their hearts ladders of words better than any made with hands. Where is thy ladder?
Fopdoodle.