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Poem	Go, ill-sped book, and whisper to her or storm out the message for her only ear that she is beautiful. Mention sunsets, be not silent of her eyes and mouth and other prospects, praise her size, say her figure is full. Say her small figure is heavenly & full, so as stunned Henry yatters like a fool & maketh little sense. Say she is soft in speech, stately in walking, modest at gatherings, and in every thing declare her excellence. And forget not, when the rest is wholly done and all of her splendors opened, one by one, to add that she likes Henry, for reasons unknown, and fate has bound them fast one to another in linkages that last and that are fair to see.
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