Dear Sir,

you do but flatter and intrigue me. If only we hadn’t the issue of time. You call me coy but I contest, ‘tis thee with these beautiful words of trickery. Perhaps our love is sacred like the Indian Ganges, and as beautiful as the rubies of the river Humber. However, ‘tis my virtue you wish to plunder. And should I refuse your love will continue to grow, “vaster than empires, and more slow” (Marvell, 12). One hundred years for every part I can assure you would grow tart. For laying thy eye on thy forehead would quickly bore, for there is much else to adore. “Two hundred to adore each breast, but thirty thousand to the rest” (Marvell, 15,16).  At those prices you could afford the best. But ‘tis thee you wish to have over all the rest.

            And when it comes to what I deserve who are you to say? Perhaps I’ll hold on to my virginity and pray. For if what you say is true that, “yonder all before us lie, deserts of vast eternity” (Marvell, 23, 24) then perhaps I would be better off intact for the inevitable judgment day. It is true that I love you dear, but I do not know how to love without fear. The state of love in which you write seems too good to be true, but I do not know if I can live without you. I am tempted now more than ever before. You tease me with your once forgotten lore. 

 A few encounters to hold dear, or to never know true love at all? Seems to me, an easy decision. Because, “the grave’s a fine and private place, but none, I think, do there embrace” (Marvell, 31,32).  I for one do not wish to partake in a lonely slumber without knowing a warm embrace. Our time is too short to be left to wonder why it was we lived our lives accordingly. Together our passions will burn “while thy willing soul transpires, at every pore with instant fires” (Marvell, 35,36). So while thy youthful beauty is still endowed, our time to act is now.

“Rather at once our time devour

Than languish in his slow-chapped power.

Let us roll all our strength at all

Our sweetness up into one ball,

And tear our pleasures with rough strife

Through the iron gates of life.

Thus, though we cannot make our sun

Stand still, yet we will make him run” (Marvell, 39-46).

          Our time together will burn like hot embers swept away by the wind. Burning so intensely all the way through to the end when the light goes out and nothing but ash remains. “That long preserved virginity and your quaint honor turned to dust, and into ashes all my lust” (Marvell, 28-30).  I do dear sir require that we act with much discretion. We are but a few who share this view, and I fear if we are found I’ll be the talk of the town. I am your mistress and not your wife, which is unaccepted at anytime. And if we are caught my name will be ruined. Where as for you will just join the male society accepted with all their improprieties.    

          Let us no longer speak on such topics. Until we meet and our bodies collide forever with you, I reside. In mind and spirit I surround you thinking of nothing else but what is to come. I’ll be with you while you sleep and a memory while you wake. We’ll forever have our memory, which with its intensity will burn for the remainder of this life. So here is where I will wait for your fair heart to bade and direct. But I beg of you dear sir do not leave me long. For my mind will begin to wander and you motives I will pounder. Come to me in timely manner when all in the town slumber and we will set this land ablaze the night burning hotter than the days. And in the morning we will part and try to ignore the racing of our hearts.