Dearest Sir Flippavere, 

I write you with the most blessed news: Lady Brittany of Backwater, Nebraska hath asked me to partake on a romantic stroll! After using your scholarly advice of presenting her with my own kerchief, I roused up the manly courage to tell her that I found her to be one of the most vexing maidens I hath laid mine eyes upon.

We plan to go on the morrow when the sun will be high and I will hath taken my annual bath. I am preparing my finest livery as I write this correspondence to you with my dirty feather of seagull. I am bursting with excitement at seeing her ladyship, but my nerves tremble at the thought of saying something that would displease her. What if, pray tell, I reveal that I found pleasure eating the maggots in mine bread? Will she turn me away upon the knowledge that I do not truly find her favorite bard to have good lyrical prowess? How I would crumble if she were to laugh at and mock my unsheathéd sword!

No matter! I will push on with my weak, gouty heart as best I can. If I am truly bestowed with luck, mayhaps we will partake in a sumptuous repast of maggots before long. 

And mayhaps I shall see some of her dainty cankle as she lifts her skirts.