Serenade with dittie

[Achebe]

Right honourable, this verse in thine honour is meagre thanks for putting paid to Marlowe, who thought himself far above, being a Cambridge man. Another of my riuals is dying of the sweating sicknesse - that rascally Greene - and ere Christmas will be grasse on the other side. Nowe rest assured that I shall ne'er disclose your nefarious plans upon the Queene. I haue in confidence the good Sir Francis Walsingham, who assures your safe passage "to a happie place" in his own words, which must mean Spain. Let us have a chatte ouer coffee and crustie bunne at the Tower of Londone on the morrow.

In the meantime, please finde below my humble lines for your honour that e'en outshines the sunne.

Yours Faithfully
Will Shaksparr c/o F Bacon & Co.

Serenade with dittie

Saye to my loue, nowe growne so farre,
more distant than the morning starre,
whisper in her eare
how unlouelie the blossoms are
how nectared sommer turneth soure
that she's not neare.
Serenade with doleful dittie
her, sing aloud for lost amitie
in moany mouthed song.
Somwhere in some nameless citie
it maye warm her cold vanitie
in memories liued long.

[Achebe]

Oh how lovely, Achebe. I love you, Achebe.
Grrrr

[cvanshelton]

Oh how lovely, Achebe. I love you, Achebe.
Grrrr

Oh, man! Should not have read that while drinking! My sinuses hate you - 

[Quixilated]

First things first:

Oh how lovely, Achebe. I love you, Achebe.
Grrrr

But also:

I actually remember this and I had wanted to comment at the time. But, by the time I rallied the courage and my thoughts, it had disappeared and I couldn't remember the title to look for it (That happens to me a lot ).  But anyway, I loved it, then and now. Especially the forward and all the old language and spellings. It was delightful and made me laugh.

--Quix